


The Story Died Ahead of Us

by Latigra



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Cloud Strife/Tifa Lockhart - Freeform, F/M, FFVII Remake + Time Travel, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Rumors, ShinRa Conspiracy Theories, Sitcom Shenanigans, Social Media, Time Travel, Whispers, sexual content in later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 127,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latigra/pseuds/Latigra
Summary: Everyone agrees: something is off about SOLDIER Cadet Cloud Strife. Including SOLDIER Cadet Cloud Strife.Time Travel Fanfic of the official, canon Time Travel Fanfic.
Relationships: Angeal Hewley/Genesis Rhapsodos, Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Cloud Strife
Comments: 1655
Kudos: 2194





	1. S.O.N

**Author's Note:**

> So this game has gotten me back into writing fanfic after a very long time of not writing at all, and for that I'm very grateful. I've banged out over 30K words :). This fic is essentially complete, except for editing and a few scenes at the end, but I got excited and here we go. 
> 
> Goal is to update every Saturday, barring any real life issues preventing my editing.
> 
> Also, I added some more warnings regarding pairings in the end notes that are spoilers for the fic. Please read if you are particular about OTPs.

A gust of frigid wind wakes Cloud.

Which doesn't make sense. He spent the night on Zack's couch, and while a Third's quarters weren't luxury apartments, they all had central air control. Still, Cloud is chilled down to the bone, as though icicles are burrowing into his joints. Like he went up to the tallest peak of Mt. Nibel without proper layering.

"Holy shit!" Zack's voice is coming from far away. But he's in the same room as Cloud. "Shit. Cloud!" Zack's hand - strong and mako-warm - wraps around Cloud's biceps and shakes him. "Wake up, buddy!"

Cloud does, swiftly, as though electrocuted.

"I made it!" Zack says loudly, blue eyes shining with more than just mako. "I'm officially a Second Class!"

Cloud's happy for him.

"Hey. . . ?"

He really is.

Gaia, how long has it been since he laid eyes on Zack? A lifetime. He reached out to touch the ridge of Zack's nose, rub his eyebrow to feel the rough texture of his dark hair. It makes him frown in obvious concern, but Cloud can't stop doing it. Zack is such a handsome man, dark hair all permanently tousled. Even wearing a gaudy yellow Golden Saucer t-shirt, he looks like he wandered out of an action movie. No wonder Cloud had desperately wanted to be him.

"Are you _crying_?" Zack's frown is brimming with concern.

"No!" chokes out Cloud. Then he notices his own tears, the way his throat is snapping shut, like it thinks he doesn't deserve air.

"Buddy. . ."

It takes Cloud a good five minutes to calm down, to control his hitching breaths and dry his tears, and even longer to convince Zack that he's fine. _Fine_. He paces around Zack's familiar living room, touching the counter and Zack's souvenirs to ground himself. Zack loves to bring trinkets back from his missions to regale Cloud with his tales of heroism (he'd forgotten so many details, until only a faded reconstruction of the man who'd saved his life was left). Cloud stops by a red materia fragment that Zack found on a trek through a forest near the northern crater. The glimmering edge makes his stomach turn.

"Cloud," says Zack.

"It's nothing." Just had a bad dream that he can't remember. Which is not true. Not true at all. He remembers that Zack was dead (in the dream). Dead, because of him. "Come on, Zack. This isn't about me. We have to celebrate for you."

"You sure?" says Zack, mako-bright eyes narrowed.

"Yeah," says Cloud, beaming. Or trying to. The nightmare, vivid as it had been, is already fading from his mind. He just needs to redirect Zack.

"I don't know," says Zack. "You're trembling."

Cloud looks down at his hands, startled. A fine tremor grips them. The short hairs on top of his hands and forearms are ramrod straight. A sudden chill makes him shudder.

Zack begins to rise. "We should take you to the infirmary."

"No!" yells Cloud, walking over and grabbing at his wrist frantically. "Please, Zack, please. No doctors. I'm fine." He squeezes Zack's arm as hard as he can. "It was just a weird nightmare. I forgot it already. I'm fine, please, I promise."

"Okay, okay!" Zack leads him back to the couch, reaching for Cloud's head and ruffling his hair. "But you're gonna have to stay here until I leave for my mission tomorrow."

"Alright, I will." Any way to avoid the labs. The infirmary. He'll berate himself for the overreaction later. Frantically, he looks around, searching for something to distract Zack, and notices that the irritating buzzing from the central air system is gone. "What happened to the air conditioner?"

"There was a thunderstorm that knocked out the power in the building's electric grid," says Zack, letting go of Cloud's hair with a final, gentle tug at the largest blond spike. "It's just the middle of the day and my windows are open, so you can't tell."

"How long have I been asleep?" asks Cloud, pushing the blankets off so he can stretch his legs. He's taken naps on Zack's couch before once or twice, but never without extenuating circumstances. "What am I doing here?"

"What day do you think it is?" asks Zack, carefully.

Cloud opens his mouth. Closes it. He looks at Zack.

"It was your birthday yesterday," says Zack. "We had a party."

Cloud's eyes widen. "My seventeenth. Kunsel came over. You got beer, and I got shitfaced on, like, two cans."

"Three," corrects Zack.

"Then, you got promoted to Second Class. . ." Which Cloud knows because Zack literally told him a second ago. Then he went on a mission, and Cloud didn't hear from him for almost two weeks. There was no thunderstorm or blackout. "What was _in_ that beer?"

"Just alcohol, unless Kunsel roofied you," says Zack, without quite achieving the tone for a joke.

Cloud tries to smile, rubbing his arms nervously.

"Seriously, Spike, what's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"Then why are you staring at me?"

 _Because it feels like I haven't seen you in years._ He won't be able to talk Zack out of taking him to the labs - to the infirmary - if he says _that_.

"Let's watch a movie or something if you're not gonna let me go," says Cloud.

He can't quite manage a joking tone either, but Zack drops it and suggests they study one of the taped exhibition matches between the Firsts.

* * *

Whenever Zack stops by the SOLDIER weapons supply center, it occurs to him that he’s surrounded by assholes. Sometimes, they’re amusing assholes, like that time Roche tricked Luxiere into jacking off in one of the bike simulators, and other times, they’re just _asshole_ assholes.

“How’d you do it?” demands Gaedor. Until exactly yesterday, he’d been the youngest person to make Second Class SOLDIER. Besides the big three, that is.

Gaedor is the second son of one of President ShinRa’s sycophants, perhaps one who let his wife entertain the boss himself. He looks a bit like Prince Rufus himself, except taller and broader. Zack doesn’t put much stock in that particular rumor, as anyone in ShinRa of a certain age who’s unfortunate enough to be blond gets hit with some rumors about being one of ShinRa’s bastards, but he gets a feeling that Gaedor himself does have some airs about it.

“Feel free to follow my fanclub for details of my exploits,” says Zack, because it’s not like the man is looking for a rational discussion.

“Dude, you have a fanclub?” asks Luxiere, a Third Class SOLDIER who is a lot nicer than Gaedor. And, as much as Zack hates to admit it, not as smart.

“Man, why would he have a fanclub?” asks Roche, who is smarter than both Gaedor and Luxiere, but also crazy and probably in a committed relationship with his custom bike.

Blond too, and batshit enough to be ShinRa's bastard.

Zack’s PHS buzzes with a notice from S.O.N. (ShinRa Online Network - the company's ultimate spying technology, according to Kunsel). He pretends that it’s official business so he can walk off and leave his fellow SOLDIERs to whatever they plan to get up to. If Gaedor really wants to know how he got promoted, he’s free to ask Lazard about the insane number of missions he’s been assigned since his induction into SOLDIER, or go ask Angeal to explain that Zack is the only recruit ever to achieve any degree of proficiency with the Buster Sword, or interrogate the Turks about their implicit trust in his discretion. Hell, he can go to the eggheads in the Science Department so they can explain to him that he recovered from the mako injections in record time. Quite frankly, Zack does not give a shit what Gaedor thinks of him, except to occasionally bask in satisfaction at constantly beating him at everything.

The mechanics have the last broadsword he dropped ready for him, and moded with two extra materia slots. Miriam, a short engineer with a red pixie cut, tells him that she saved him some of her best Cure and Barrier materia, but he politely turns her down.

“I’m using the naturally formed materia I find in the field,” he tells her.

“Oh, come on,” she says. “Mine are definitely better.”

“It’s to train; Hewley’s advice,” lies Zack. “Your stuff works so fast, I might turn lazy.”

“Zack Fair, sometimes you’re so nice you overshoot and turn condescending,” she says.

“Huh?”

“I’m a materia engineer, and you think I don’t know how natural materia works?” she demands, smirking.

“Ah, well,” says Zack. The truth is that natural materia is as smooth as cream and constantly getting stronger, while ShinRa’s manufactured orbs never get any better and sometimes shatter when overcharged, but he doesn’t want to discourage Miriam. “You got me.”

“How about you make it up to me with a pizza date?”

“Uh. . .” Zack trails off until the moment grows awkward and Miriam looks away from him, blushing. “I’ve been busy lately; it’s nothing. . . personal.” Great, it sounds like he’s a second away from calling customer service.

“Sure,” says Miriam. “You need anything else?”

“No!” says Zack, lifting the broadsword off the counter so fast that he most decapitates Miriam. “Sorry, sorry.” He flees the interaction before committing manslaughter and absconds to the hangar to wait for Cissnei.

It’s early, so the hangar is deserted. Slotting his new materia takes all of five seconds, then Zack is alone with his thoughts and a clear, bright blue sky that reminds him of. . . Well.

By Odin’s balls, when exactly was Zack reduced to such pathetic pining? He almost goes back to Miriam to accept her pizza invitation, as any intelligent single man would. Hell, Zack himself has accepted “pizza” invitations before, a few times even before he understood what they were. With Miriam, even. She’s what his backwater town of Gongaga would euphemistically refer to as a “free spirit”. A free spirit that Zack had found very casual and educational. She had opened his provincial eyes. One of the best parts of Midgard is the abundance of spiritual freedom that Zack had very much partaken in.

He doesn’t, though. His last hookup had not occurred under the best of circumstances, though it’d certainly felt good while it was happening. Perhaps it was time to institute a moratorium on pizza with other ShinRa employees. Except with Cloud.

 _Bahamut, please descend from heaven and strike me down,_ prays Zack. He’s pretty sure that Cloud is a virgin.

Zack needs to get laid. As soon as this mission is over, the pipes are getting cleaned.

Hell, _during_ the mission, maybe. That last disastrous hookup had been with Cissnei, and it wouldn’t surprise Zack if he’s the only one feeling weird about it. They’d been hunting Wutain spies in the slums and met someone from Cissnei’s past. Zack still doesn’t know the details, but something about the encounter had sent her spinning, and when he’d knocked on her door to lend an ear, she’d borrowed another part of his anatomy. Cissnei is pretty hot, so while Zack had stopped to consider Cloud, the consideration didn’t take up much of his time.

After, he’d been so torn up about it that Cissnei had to comfort _him_.

“I feel like I cheated on someone,” he’d said to her.

“I didn’t know you were in a relationship,” Cissnei had said.

“Technically, I’m not. I didn’t mean physical cheating.” Yeah, that totally made sense.

“Oh, Zack. I hope you get this wasn’t-” Cissnei had paused, running a hand through her curly hair. “I don’t mean to be mean, but it wasn’t about you.”

“I get that,” said Zack. "Let's just drop it, okay? I'm just being weird."

The correct words there would have been "a coward". Zack needs to tell Cloud how he feels so he can move on from this. He'd anonymously rambled about his little situation on S.O.N. a few weeks ago (yes, he had been ruminating about it for literal weeks) and sometimes goes to check on the thread. It's like picking at an old wound.

**_I think I ruined my relationship with my best friend - help_ **

Zack imagines coming right out like that to Kunsel or - he shudders - Angeal. His head would explode with embarrassment.

_I've been friends with this guy for more than a year now. The story is pretty boring, but the gist is that we both come from tiny nowhere towns and started at around the same time at ShinRa, so we've been helping each other out a lot._

_He's pretty hot, and I always thought so. Everyone thinks so; it's actually a bit of a joke that he should be a model. But he's very shy and also got picked on a lot as a kid, so I don't think he really believes anyone about it. But he is *really* hot. Like, Sephiroth-hot, but blond._

Cloud doesn't look like Sephiroth in the slightest, but that's the most well-known, unattainably hot person in Midgar, and Zack needed to get the point across about the off-the-charts levels of smoking. Cloud's hotter than Sephiroth, even. It works. Zack stands by the comparison.

_We've gotten pretty close as friends. We watch movies together, hang out in Midgar on our days off, help each other with work._

They also train together, but Zack didn't want to leave clues about what they do.

_Like I said, I always thought he was hot, so I've been pretty touchy with him basically the entire time I've known him. I mean, like cuddling, kissing (his forehead and cheeks and stuff, play fighting, etc. . . not strictly romantic stuff). He usually has a force field of personal space around him, but he lets me get all over him. And sometimes, he starts it too, especially when we're alone. I'm not imagining it, trust me. I spend most of our time together lately second-guessing everything I do; it's driving me crazy._

Zack cringes every time he gets to that part of his deranged, 3:00 AM desperate confessional. He sounds like an embarrassing serial killer.

_Another thing is that if anyone points out to my friend that we act like boyfriends - and people do, because people don't mind their own damned business - my friend will laugh and say that I'm just a "touchy" guy._

_And this is completely untrue! I don't know where the hell he's getting that from. Sure, I'm a friendly guy, but I fucking guarantee you I'm not out there cuddling with my bros, much less greeting them with kisses. What the fuck? I do that with him, not anyone else._

Yeah, he does sound like he's a month away from murdering Cloud and making a necklace out of his teeth.

_Yes, I get that I sound like I have a crush on my friend. I realize that. It may have taken me a sec back when it started, but it's been months now, and I'm not dumb. The question is, how does *he* not realize it? I'm not exactly subtle._

_Anyway, things started getting awkward when I got promoted and started making a lot more money than him. What used to be us sharing turned into me giving him stuff. It's not that he isn't generous or fair, but that I literally make like three times more money than him now, and I really like giving him things. He’ll say that I’m just generous, but I’m not *that* nice with other people. I like giving *him* things._

_People, once again not keeping their noses out of it, started to make fun of him for being my sugar baby, and now, he won't take shit from me. Not in public, anyway. Last week, I wanted to give him something expensive that he said he wanted-_ a motorcycle, which resulted in Cloud having a meltdown that almost ended their friendship _-and let's just say I have a thing that I didn't actually want in the first place that is a hundred percent for him to gaze longingly at. I want him to gaze longingly at *me*._

Honestly, Zack wonders if he wasn’t having a mako-induced fugue when he wrote this shit down. He hopes the Turks haven’t hacked his S.O.N. accounts and read this.

_Things haven't really been the same since that happened. I've been pretty busy with work, so maybe it's that, but I just feel that he's distant with me now. Maybe. I don't know._

_I tried apologizing, and he said I don't have to, but I think he's mad about something. I just want things to go back to the way they were before._

The thread goes on with people asking for more details. Zack thinks his rambling more than paints a picture, but people are nosy, and more so with S.O.N.’s pseudo-anonymity encouraging them. One particular comment that Zack likes to read in Kunsel’s voice gets the picture:

_Bro, you sound fucking unhinged. I don’t know the details of this Sephiroth-hot guy, so I won’t speculate, but I know this much. You’re probably being creepy as shit. No, I don’t need further information or clarification. Trust me, you are being a creep. Either ghost this guy, or tell him how you feel. If this goes on much longer, you’re gonna end up hating him or choking him in his sleep and taking his corpse to a taxidermist. Move on._

Though Zack is not the type to make puppets out of people who reject his romantic advances, he gets the essence of the hyperbolic comment. Already, he feels himself getting annoyed at Cloud’s stubborn refusal to see the signals that literally everyone else can see. Cloud isn’t stupid, after all. It’s driving Zack crazy to find an explanation. Is it because they’re both guys? Zack is from a small town too, where such relationships are ignored at best and persecuted at worst. From what he’s gathered from Cloud’s stories, Nibelheim is like Gongaga on mako, and he doesn’t mean in the charming, rustic town way.

On the other hand, he and Cloud have seen same-gender couples around Midgard, and Cloud has never seemed surprised or even slightly bothered by the notion. Assholes also jeer at him for looking like a girl and being Zack’s “girlfriend”, and he always seems furious because _Zack_ might be offended.

The point is, Zack is slightly obsessed. Just a tad. So much that Cloud’s weird episode yesterday concerns him because, for a second, Cloud had reached out and touched him with reverence, as if Zack was the most important thing in his whole world. Yes, he’d looked upset and possibly ill, but also. . . what if he loves Zack _that way_ and some strange, thunder-induced nightmare made him realize it?

“I’m totally losing my shit,” Zack says to himself.

“Well, that’s a little concerning.”

“Cissnei!” Zack jumps to his feet, mentally cursing, and turns around. “That was just- It doesn’t have anything to do with work.”

“I sure hope so.” Cissnei beams, slapping his shoulder lightly as her light brown eyes grow soft. “I’d rather have you around, but if something’s up, there are other SOLDIERs.”

“No, I could use the distraction,” says Zack.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Zack nods.

Cloud’s fine. By the end of the evening, they’d been watching funny videos together, huddled close on Zack’s couch. He is not going to spiral into speculation about why Cloud had been cuddlier than usual. For all Zack knows, that had been more delusions on his part.

“What’s our mission?” he asks Cissnei.

“Rabid mako monsters again,” says Cissnei.

“Great, my favorite.” It’s not untrue. Monster-hunting missions are monotonous, boring, and dangerous, but they are also simple. Monsters have no conscience, no ability to yell at Zack about ShinRa’s corruption, about the ecological and economical devastation it uses to fuel Midgard’s comforts and appetites. “Let’s go.”


	2. ShinRa Secretarial Espionage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of the Famous Three, and Cloud's life as a random, normal SOLDIER Cadet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plague has me working from home, so I got some time to edit this chapter. Might as well put it out early.
> 
> Also, I forgot to mention last chapter that my friend Ro is beta-reading this. It's legible because she catches endless autocorrect shenanigans and missing words. Much thanks to her.
> 
> I also forgot to tag Genesis/Angeal lol

The whispers follow Cloud around like daggers, and have turned sharper since Zack gave him a copy of his keys after he officially became a SOLDIER. It's just so that Cloud can use the phone in Zack's quarters to call his mom once a week. A SOLDIER's schedule is unpredictable. Already, he's been shipped off for multiple entire weekends without notice, and Cloud can only contact his ma, Claudia, on Saturdays between 3:00 PM and 6:00 PM. It's the only time that the phone at Nibelhiem's single convenience store might be available.

Technically, Cloud has permission to come and go from Zack's quarters as he pleases, just so long as he knocks before entering and stays out of Zack's room (that’s mostly Cloud’s rule; Zack does not seem concerned that Cloud might wander in and out of his bedroom and argues that there’s no reason for his perfectly comfortable bed to just be there when he’s not using it, but Cloud doesn’t want to take advantage). Zack has a great kitchen and private bathroom, and even a nice view. Nice-ish. Well, it looks out to the city, and Midgar's lights are pretty impressive at night.

The other cadets are just mad that Cloud gets access to all that when he’s nobody, hence the determination to make him feel like shit about it.

 _Slut. Pretty boy, bending over for a SOLDIER, hoping to get whatever mako is in his jizz_.

And so on. When exactly people decided that Cloud's beautiful, he can't figure out. Back in Nibelheim, he'd been scrawny, short, and too pale. His hair had been a source of near daily torment. Claudia used to tell him that the blond spikes are so unruly because he has Odin's power running through his veins, and so thunderstorms run through his hair. In that light, his reputation as a siren is hilarious, although it would never be easy to ignore. Cloud would never go into Zack's apartment at all, if not for his ma. It's not her fault that he's surrounded by assholes. Or that he's not strong enough to make it into SOLDIER.

Well, not _tall_ enough. Why, then, did they let him try out when his height had been noted in every physical? Cloud does not know, and no one had given him a straight answer about it besides making vague noises about maybe, he might someday at some point get taller. He's already seventeen, and his mother is a tiny woman that barely touches five feet in heels, so Cloud doubts he has any growth spurts left in him. None of which he had told Claudia, who would be waiting patiently at the store for his call. She thinks he's at ShinRa making a name for himself, in a place where people aren't taking out old grudges and prejudices on him.

So Cloud braces himself and heads to Zack's quarters that very Saturday. It doesn't take as much effort as it should. Maybe he's too tired (defeated?) to concern himself with the opinions of Shinra cadets. Hearing his mother's voice is more important.

It makes him cry.

Cloud doesn't notice until he hiccups, and then only because Claudia asks what's wrong.

"Nothing," says Cloud, but he sounds off. Like she caught him hiding with a scraped knee or a black eye.

"Cloud," she says, faint over the static from the phone. Zack's Midgar apartment in the SOLDIER barracks might have the best technology the world has to offer, but Nibelheim's ancient phone is still Nibelheim's ancient phone.

"I'm okay," Cloud tells the static. "Must be radio interference or something." He fights a sob as he wipes tears off his cheeks. "Listen, Ma, I was just calling to let you know I'm good, but I have a mission to run to. I'll do my best to call next week."

"Cloud."

"Bye, I love you, Ma!" Cloud hangs up the phone before she can press him for details and rushes to the bathroom.

His breath is coming out in short, panicked gasps, though _nothing is wrong_. He hadn't even thought about failing the SOLDIER entrance exams over something as unfair as his inferior height in weeks. Cloud washes his face with cold water, telling himself over and over again that he's _fine_ , better than fine. Great! Zack is a Second, and his bullies must be busy or getting tired of him, because Cloud barely remembers their faces.

He catches sight of his own reflection on Zack's bathroom mirror and stops cold.

It's just his own face, with its small nose, odd freckles, and thin lips. His eyes are. . . blue. As they've always been. Plain blue like the sky during Nibelheim's sunny days. The idea that they should be glowing bright with mako is absurd, so Cloud looks away and walks out of the bathroom. He considers lounging about, using Zack's TV to distract himself from. . . But there's nothing he needs distraction from, and even though Zack had given him permission to use his quarters, Cloud had told himself he wouldn't take advantage. Cadets have their own shared lounge, which Cloud can use if he really needs to take his mind off things.

He doesn't go to the lounge. Instead, he heads back to his bunk and naps away the afternoon, then sleeps like the dead that night. Any dreams he had, he mercifully forgets.

He would stay in bed all of Sunday, but it would make his roommate Kunsel worry. Cloud is still vaguely surprised to have anyone at all (besides Claudia) who worries for him, so he drags himself out of his bunk bed and heads to the Cadets’ lounge. There's no reason why he should be maudlin anyway. ShinRa's metal dark grey walls had stopped disorienting him weeks ago, as much as he hates the metallic tinge everywhere. Zack had suggested they didn't want to cough up the gil to give such a huge building a nicer paint job, and Cloud hadn't argued. He doesn't think that's it, though, since they went through the trouble of etching incomprehensible and barely-visible shit all over the walls. He recognizes symbols from the Old Tongue scattered in the gibberish, but they don't make sense. Inexplicably, they'd scratched the symbol for "soup" in a lion mural on the ninth floor. Zack had all but died laughing when Cloud told him.

It’s all bothering him all over again, like he just got to Midgard.

None of it bothers him as much as his joints. They feel as though they _ought_ to be stiff as he half-jogs the few flights of stairs. Maybe he's coming down with a bad cold and his brain is trying to prepare him for it.

Cloud sits in a corner of the lounge, trying to avoid everyone, as is his custom. He wishes for windows, but the little Cadet’s lounge doesn't warrant the luxuries that the SOLDIER's recreation center does. There's the old jukebox, and the little cafeteria stocked with trash. . . Wait, no. Cloud likes the little cafeteria, and the twenty daily credits he gets to spend how he likes, in addition to the large free meal he's offered every day in between his training and duties. They even carry over on days he doesn't feel particularly hungry. Hell, the only reason he hadn't quit ShinRa outright during the first lonely weeks, before he'd known Zack, was that he couldn't think of a pretext to give up all that food.

He's huddled up in his corner picking at a soggy sandwich and sipping an Electric Blueberry HyperDrink when Kunsel drops onto the seat in front of him.

"Dude!" says Kunsel, all but vibrating with excitement, so he doesn't notice Cloud squinting at him.

Kunsel looks. . . Well, not different. Something. But still just dark hair and brown eyes with broad cheekbones and a small chin. He likes to complain that he looks like a half-rendered NPC in a videogame (a rather dramatic way to say he's very average looking), and for the first time ever, Cloud sees what he means. He feels like he wouldn't have been able to pick Kunsel out of a line-up thirty seconds ago if not for the shirt he’s wearing (one of Cloud’s favorites: a black shirt with a Marlboro cartoon swallowing an entire platoon of Wutain spies). But he barely remembers the cartoon it's based on. He watches it with Kunsel every time they get a chance, though.

"Did you hear?" Kunsel asks him, leaning forward.

"Ah."

"We're having a sparring tournament tomorrow!" says Kunsel, waving his hands. "And the winner gets- They didn't say, but Hodge swears that the Firsts are coming to spectate!"

"The Firsts," repeats Cloud.

"Like, all of them!" says Kunsel. "Even General Sephiroth."

Cloud's heart skips a beat.

That's normal, though. It is General Sephiroth, Cloud's hero. Nervousness is to be expected. Right?

* * *

ShinRa loves wasting Sephiroth's time almost as much it loves gil. And mako.

"If we must attend this silly cadet tournament, we could at least do it in style," Genesis complains, tugging on a loose thread of his standard-issue SOLDIER slacks as they head to the elevator. Almost standard-issue. Gen has the uniform in faded burgundy to bring out the auburn highlights in his hair.

"You can do what you like," says Sephiroth, "but I'm not wearing ridiculous fetish PR gear unless I'm explicitly ordered to."

"You wouldn't even know it's 'fetish' gear if S.O.N. hadn't told you," says Genesis, referring to the electronic messaging service that ShinRa had recently developed. The thing is supposed to have anonymous functions (which people had been using mostly to discuss their sexual proclivities), but Sephiroth is not dumb. Nothing can convince him that ShinRa doesn't know exactly who uses the service, and for what.

"Lucky me that they did," says Sephiroth.

"Guys," says Angeal.

Of course _he_ finds the stupidity of S.O.N. amusing rather than humiliating. Somehow, Angeal had acquired the least embarrassing fan club out of all three First Class SOLDIERs. He’s older, handsome enough (at least as far as Sephiroth can judge), but he isn’t as unusual looking as Sephiroth or Genesis. As far as Sephiroth could see, his followers are interested in sports, martial arts, and swordsmanship. There are the occasionally silly posts from people who want Angeal to “step on them”, but nothing compared to the barrage of absolute nonsense that Sephiroth must endure. Angeal seems mostly amused by most of it. In fact, the requests that he hawk stupid supplements promising anything from greater muscle definition to penis elongation cause him more grief because he doesn’t want to trick people into hurting themselves or wasting money.

“People having sex fantasies about me doesn’t hurt anyone,” he says.

“Precisely,” says Genesis. “Our dear Seph is just a prude.”

“I am not,” hisses Sephiroth. Then he blushes, _not_ because he’s a prude, but because he sounds like he’s six years old. He might as well stomp his foot. “Shut up.”

Just because he’s single doesn’t mean that he’s stunted, or all the other words Genesis uses to taunt him. He’s only glad to have something that Sephiroth will probably never have: a romantic relationship. What Angeal sees in him, Sephiroth will never understand.

Genesis makes one of those smirk-sounds he likes, and Sephiroth settles for stony silence. This is all Genesis' fault, as most dumb ShinRa spectacles are. Lazard, the new SOLDIER director had "suggested" that they need a "liason", and honestly? Would it kill them to be a little more subtle about wanting to control every aspect of their lab rats' lives? Sephiroth, Angeal, and Genesis don't need a _liaison_ ; they all live in the same apartment complex. On the same floor. They all have state-of-the-art PHSes. It's not like they needed to fill a form to see each other on their personal time. If Director Lazard wants to meet them, then he can use his PHS to contact literally any of them and set up a time.

Sephiroth would have argued against the stupid plan until President ShinRa himself had to issue an order, but Angeal had not wanted the conflict, and Genesis thought that selecting a SOLDIER candidates might be a good compromise. How, exactly? That had been pointless speculation about a warrior's honor and hero worship from the SOLDIER program, blah blah blah. As if battle prowess has anything to do with honor. Angeal and Genesis would know better if they'd ever been to Wutai.

It'd been Genesis who'd talked Sephiroth down in the end, as per usual. "Would you like some starry-eyed SOLDIER wanna be spying on us?" he'd demanded. Sephiroth had been ready to practically vomit at the suggestion, but Genesis had raised a hand imperiously. "Or a Turk selected personally by Tseng?"

Sephiroth would prefer neither, but that isn't an option, so here they are. The elevator doors slide open, and Genesis saunters out ahead, which Sephiroth dutifully ignores because he knows Genesis hates nothing more than he hates being ignored. And by Sephiroth, especially. Angeal gives him a look, but he's not as easy to read as Genesis. It could be a gentle warning to be calm, or a silent plea to indulge Genesis. Sephiroth nods since he intends to do both, and then walks out to the training dojo.

Genesis is already talking to the SOLDIER instructor, Lt. Armstrong, an older martial artist and swordmaster who'd been with ShinRa for so long that he'd given Sephiroth lessons in his youth. The man is built like one of Heidegger's tanks and adorned with a thick, curly mane of greying red hair that he keeps in a tight braid. (Sephiroth had wanted vibrant hair like his once, and instead grown out limp, lifeless strands the color of ash.) Armstrong had been ordered to gather all the SOLDIER hopefuls who showed promise and arrange a short tournament, though no one had explained why. Not that they had needed to; Armstrong had dutifully sent them a file with forty-two names ahead of time and asked when the Firsts would be ready.

Said cadets are standing at attention a few feet beyond the training mat. Sephiroth scans the rows while Genesis puffs himself up in Armstrong's general direction. The cadets are wearing their PT clothes and no helmet, making it easier to study their overall composure. Angeal is doing the same, going as far as walking closer to the group to get a better look at their faces. Sephiroth follows his larger friend, for once indulging his own curiosity. The cadets are trained and know enough to stare ahead without flinching while their superiors inspect them.

Sephiroth recognizes a few of the faces from the list Armstrong forwarded them. The only one that catches his attention is the short blond with ridiculously spiky hair, and only because Angeal picked him out of the list last night. Zack's friend. Zack, who has caught Angeal's attention with his cheerful personality and skill with the Buster Sword. Zack, who salutes Sephiroth without much fanfare or nervousness whenever they run into each other at the SOLDIER training facilities. Specimen Z, who had impressed Hojo with his unexpected susceptibility to mako’s enhancements despite his apparent resistance to the more vicious side effects. Zack, who has a cute cadet boyfriend, according to the other Thirds.

Sephiroth stares at Cloud Strife until the boy can't help but fidget minutely.

It's not unusual for promising SOLDIER candidates to be refused on technicalities. Hojo and Hollander are both finicky bastards with idiosyncrasies that they like to consider factual laws of the universe. There's nothing particularly special about Cloud Strife's file. He had failed the SOLDIER entrance exams because of his inferior height, but had been given a reprieve in case he puts on a few more inches as he ages. Armstrong likes him because he is quiet, hardworking, and obedient, and Angeal recognized his name because Zack is a chatterbox. And it is an unusual name.

And he is unusually pretty, the only person Sephiroth knows - knows of, at least - who actually looks good on his ShinRa headshot. Besides Tseng, maybe. It'd made Genesis jealous, much as he denied it. Strife is high on Sephiroth's short list just because having him around in all his effortless beauty might annoy Genesis.

"All right," Armstrong says loudly, walking over with Genesis in tow. "You've all been granted the honorable opportunity to impress our First Class SOLDIERs."

Sephiroth looks away from Strife. He has been warned that staring is unsettling, and there is no need to turn Strife into an unsuspecting pawn in his petty and childish rivalry with Genesis. Sephiroth pretends it is not a thing in the first place, and it’s certainly not worth considering when selecting their spy.

"We will hold a hand-to-hand combat tournament," says Armstrong. "Matches will continue until loss-of-consciousness or formal yield. No strikes to the eyes; everything else is fair game."

* * *

Cloud must have imagined it. For the full. . . however many interminable seconds it'd lasted. There is literally zero reason in Odin's green and holy Earth for Sephiroth - _General Sephiroth_ \- to stare at him. Only reason that he isn't having a meltdown over his upcoming, inevitable, and humiliating defeat is that the Firsts have no reason to remember him. Not in a weird tournament with forty-something participants.

Why is he even included? He's the worst martial artist in the group. Most of the cadets in ShinRa's SOLDIER program are from well-to-do families in Midgar and its neighbor cities who had their boys studying some kind of martial arts discipline since they could walk. Cloud's handful of pity lessons from Master Zangan could not compete. Nevermind his pathetic performance with most swords, even the light ones made for smaller fighters. Zack had been coaching him since they met, so he shouldn't humiliate himself too badly, but still. His lessons with Zack are sporadic, mostly an excuse to hang out and play-fight like kids.

Cloud is not hopeful.

Case in point: the computer randomizing the matches places him on the very first match. Great. He'd been hoping to be somewhere in the middle, where his poor performance would be quickly forgotten. But since he isn't a hopeful person, it hardly phases him. He walks forward, bows to Lt. Armstrong, to the Firsts (carefully not looking at Sephiroth), and then turns to his opponent. Cadet Carmichael, a cheerful enough fellow with broad shoulders and light brown eyes who is at least a head taller than Cloud and probably outweighs him by thirty pounds or so. Carmichael is nice enough, though. This should be quick, with minimum damage to Cloud's ego.

Cloud and Carmichael bow, and Lt. Armstrong shouts "Begin!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe Cloud's mom is canonically Claudia now.
> 
> Still on Twitter, trying to get my geriatric ass up to speed.


	3. The Tournament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shounen Jump Tournament Arc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still going for Saturday update schedule while I have the time!
> 
> Once again, thanks to my friend Ro for helping. Though I may have gone in there and added more mistakes during own edit lol

Zack has been going on about the boy for months. All "I met the nicest guy" and "he's from a small town too" and "the other recruits are picking on him because he's a little short and skinny, but he's a clever little bastard" and "he likes energy drinks" and "his Mom is all about the old Gods and this Odin pendant looks sick; he's going to love it", and. . . Well, the point is that Zack has been fixated for a bit, and Angeal has weathered the obvious but harmless crush. It's not like it's Genesis with a crush. Or - Planet help them - Sephiroth.

Angeal had not bothered to look into the kid, trusting Zack's instincts despite the young man's apparent naivete. Maybe if he had, he might not have been surprised to see little Cloud Strife smoke his first opponent.

The match, if it could be called that, lasted all of ten seconds. The bigger cadet had tried to hit Strife and landed himself nose-first on the floor, his forearm between Strife's thighs, arm pronated and about to be pulled right out of his socket. Strife pulled off the armlock effortlessly, like a master who had been practicing for years. He waits a moment to see if the other cadet will try to get out of it, though anyone can tell the match is done.

Still, Strife waits, gaze darting to his lieutenant. A frisson of unease passes through the crowd of cadets as the one in the armlock squirms uselessly. Why won't Strife apply pressure?

Eventually, he does. It takes but a moment for his opponent to tap out of the match. Strife lets go and leaps away, as though he's the one who got his ass handed to him.

"Strife wins," says Armstrong.

There is a moment of charged silence. The kid on the ground lets out a loud breath, spurring Strife into action. He rushes forward to offer a helping hand. The fallen cadet slaps it away. _That_ makes even Angeal tense. It's disrespectful to Strife and - more importantly - disrespectful to Armstrong and the superior officers observing. Angeal glances to his fellow Firsts.

Genesis' eyes are narrowed, but he doesn't look as though he's about to go full diva, auburn hair toss included. Much as Angeal can appreciate the hysterics from his lover, now it’s not the time. Thankfully, it's Sephiroth whose gaze is fixed on the mat in absolute concentration. He’s unlikely to make a scene.

A hissed whisper catches Angeal's attention. When he looks back at the cadets, Strife is hauling the other one to his feet. They bow at each other stiffly, then turn to Armstrong, and finally, to the Firsts. Armstrong chooses to let the awkward moment pass with nothing more than a sniff from Genesis.

"Carmichael, back to the barracks," says Armstrong.

The cadet bows at his CO one last time and practically runs out of the dojo. Strife stares at the ground, though he's supposed to be standing at attention. Armstrong has to order him to the stands, where he goes to rest while waiting for his next opponent, not that he needs it.

Angeal notices that Sephiroth's eyes follow Strife's every movement.

* * *

It's just Cloud's luck that he somehow managed to pull an inexplicable victory out of his ass, and it's somehow been worse than if he'd just lost. For a second there, it'd looked like Carmichael would rush him, and what a shitshow would that have been? Lt. Armstrong would've probably had a rage stroke, and then Carmichael might've been kicked out for dishonor or some other bullshit that sounded better than just embarrassing a CO in front of the Firsts. Carmichael didn't deserve that over a fluke. He really is a nice guy, usually polite to Cloud and even willing to tell his fellow asshole jocks to cut it out when they decide to bother Cloud at the lounge or mess hall.

He must have had a bad - or rather, a _good_ \- night out yesterday that tired him out. He wouldn't have come at Cloud so slowly, and with such an obvious opening, otherwise. It'd been almost slow-motion, really, more than enough time for something inside Cloud to spring into action. Just like Tifa taught him.

Cloud would shake his head if he wasn’t supposed to be standing at attention. Tifa Lockhart had never taught him anything about martial arts. She'd been nicer than most and gone as far as trying to stop his bullies, but she'd been only a girl out in the mountains without a mother to watch out for her and a father drunk on unwarranted self-importance. He has written a few letters to her since his arrival in Midgard, but she either didn't receive them or chose to ignore them. Or been forced to ignore them. Cloud has not asked Claudia in case she goes and tries to talk to Tifa, which would undoubtedly cause problems with Tifa's father.

The second match starts while Cloud muses - two cadets that mostly ignore him. Cloud mostly returns the favor, so he doesn't care that standing at attention means that he can't observe the fight very well. Well, he does mind that he won't be able to assess their skills, but that's probably why the winners are supposed to stand aside and stare straight ahead. By Ramuh's beard, Cloud can't believe he's one of the winners, even temporarily. It'll be a nice story to tell Claudia, a nugget of truth that she can use to build him up in her mind. Fluke or not, Cloud's glad it happened. Carmichael's ego will survive.

There are twenty-one matches in the first round, including Cloud's. Most last longer than his, so he has to stand at perfect attention for at least an hour, if not longer. The winners join him steadily, but thankfully, he is expected to ignore them. And they are expected to ignore him. He doesn't have to worry about any form of retaliation until the whole thing is over, and hopefully, something else unexpected will happen to distract everyone. Unlike Carmichael, the other losers are allowed to stay in the dojo, lounging quietly and whispering between matches. Cloud feels their gazes, but whatever. He learned long ago not to obsess over whispers that he can't control.

Kunsel is one of the last to join the victors and Cloud's happy for him. Hs nose itches by then.

"We'll take a break here," says Armstrong, after the last match of the first round is over. "At ease, cadets."

Cloud scratches his nose, instantly starting to put some distance between himself and the other winners as he looks for Kunsel.

" _Dude!_ " says Kunsel, in a 'whisper' so loud he might as well go and scream it directly in Sephiroth's ear. "What the fuck?"

"I don't know," says Cloud, trying for an actual whisper. "Maybe Carmichael has the flu or something, he was so freaking slow."

"Are you kidding?" Kunsel holds Cloud by the shoulders and mock-shakes. "You've been holding out on us, chocobo head!"

Cloud rolls his eyes, trying to keep track of everyone around as discreetly as possible (which is not very). It's not the time to argue with Kunsel about it. Not when he doesn't seem mad.

* * *

"We should socialize with them," says Genesis, trying not to make it a question.

"Why would we do that?" asks Sephiroth.

"The point of this is to select our spy," says Genesis. "Have a degree of control over it, at least."

"Are we supposed to go and ask them what they feel about espionage?"

"Ugh," says Genesis. Then regrets it instantly, because he very much does not want to sound like a petulant child in front of ShinRa's crown jewel. He looks towards Angeal, if only so he doesn't punch Sephiroth's smug, perfect face. "Talk to him."

"He does have a point right now," says Angeal, with an apologetic little shrug. "It's not the ideal setting to approach a subordinate."

"You approached that Second Class just fine," protests Genesis. He knows the bastard’s name and entire life history by now, but he’d rather pretend Zack Fair is an afterthought. "And he was a Third Class at the time."

"Not in the middle of a tournament where he was meant to impress me," says Angeal.

Genesis frowns, but Angeal has the best track record with social interactions. Unlike Genesis and His Silver Excellency, he had somewhat of a normal childhood until he was around ten. Then Hollander got funding for his research from ShinRa, and the rest is history. Genesis is a better actor than Sephiroth (because Sephiroth doesn't care to _try_ at acting, he suspects), but he can blunder just as badly in large groups.

He scans the dojo, eyes passing by the losers for a quick dismissal, then looks over to the winners. They'd never discussed the criteria for selecting their spy, and it wouldn't have to be the winner, but he bets even Angeal wouldn't want to pick someone who lost in the first round of a tournament. He'd suggested going for the blond with an awesome haircut because, allegedly, Zack Fair likes him, but Genesis would be damned if he let _Zack Fair_ pick their secretary only because he'd wormed his way into Angeal's good graces.

"Let's go for the one we like the most," Angeal had said, after they'd grown tired of reading near identical files last night.

"I don't _like_ anyone," Sephiroth had complained.

"Then I get we won't be needing your input," Genesis had responded.

They probably would have devolved into a serious argument, but Angeal had broken them up as usual and essentially sent them off to bed. They weren't getting anywhere, and perhaps a solution would crystalize after they saw Armstrong's selected candidates in action. The old martial artist is honorable, and thus, would not be directly involved in whatever scheme the Turks, or Lazard, or whoever it was, had cooked up.

Genesis is looking past Sephiroth and Angeal, watching the cadets converse in small groups, when Armstrong approaches them.

"Sirs," he says, bowing. "How are the boys performing so far?"

Genesis opens his mouth to say that they're adequate enough, only to be beaten to the punch.

"Who's been training Strife?" asks Sephiroth.

"I have, sir," says Armstrong, while Genesis' eyes narrow.

"Your evaluation says that he lags behind in areas pertaining to martial arts," says Sephiroth, "but shows greater levels of social and emotional maturity."

Genesis' highly practiced nonchalant demeanor strains. Of course Sephiroth remembers every detail of every last boring file. Stupid photographic memory.

"He. . . does." Armstrong's pause is well-warranted, since Strife's shoulder lock had been expertly executed.

"Perhaps the first match was a fluke," says Angeal, placating as usual. "Zack has basically the same assessment as Lt. Armstrong." The last thing they need is for Sephiroth to outright call Armstrong a liar, or so Angeal would think.

"We will see," says Sephiroth, his gaze sliding towards Strife.

Who is currently play-fighting with another cadet that Genesis couldn't pick out of a line-up if his life depended on it. He bet Sephiroth could recite every line on his file, though he doesn't have Strife's distinctive hair to make him stand out. Strife finally pushes him off when the boy tries to wrap his arm around Strife's waist, as though to lift him clean off the floor. He does it with a laugh, as the cadet grins before pointing to the weapons rack and saying something Genesis cannot hear. Strife glances at the rack and shrugs.

"Have them use weapons the second round," says Genesis.

"Sir," says Armstrong. "All my cadets would risk flesh and bone to impress you. I chose a hand-to-hand tournament because it would be safer."

A ShinRa CO standing up for his subordinates. Genesis allows a small smirk. How has the man survived in the company for so long?

"Training weapons are all blunted," says Genesis. "If they can't manage a safe battle with weapons designed for exhibitions, they aren't fit for SOLDIER."

"It's still an unnecessary risk," says Angeal.

"No, I want to see them use weapons," says Sephiroth.

Genesis is so shocked that Sephiroth is backing him up that he doesn't say anything. Nevertheless, it stings that Armstrong bows, as though unwilling to challenge the great Silver General.

* * *

The Gods must be smiling on Cloud, because the computer places him on the fourth match of the next round, where his performance is more likely to be forgotten.

(A part of him finds it strange that he's desperate to go unnoticed when he should be yearning to impress his idol. Sephiroth is right _there_ , and he might have even noticed Cloud already, and that is supposed to be his _dream_.)

The next round involves weapons, which all but assures that Cloud will be annihilated. He still can't look at the ongoing matches properly, but he doesn't need to. The clang of blunted swords meeting in the air is enough to confirm his suspicions: all cadets have bargained on impressing Midgard's most famous swordmasters with the blade.

Zack has been trying his best to coach him at swordplay, but again, there's only so much his help can do to bridge the gap between Cloud and the other cadets. It never takes them long to disarm him during sword combat, and that's even when the Firsts aren't making everyone desperate to show off.

To make matters worse, his opponent is Johnson, Cloud's most vicious bully. As far as Cloud can tell, he's done nothing to trigger Johnson's torment besides exist as a country bumpkin who made a SOLDIER friend. The rich boy is something of a cross between a scavenger and a predator - he will take down larger prey when absolutely necessary, to impress other predators, but his lifeblood is smaller quarry. Or roadkill. Cloud will try his hardest to not make it easier for him, but it’ll be easy anyway.

Their turn comes after what feels like a lifetime. Cloud does not look at him when they approach the weapons rack; the bastard will be smirking, and Cloud doesn't have the facial features to make a scowl look anywhere near threatening. He examines the available weapons, trying to focus on Zack's advice. He should try for a katana, foil, or sabre since he's so light. He can't. He wants the broadsword, though it's so heavy that Cloud grows clumsy in minutes. Zack's advice feels like it's from a lifetime ago, though that's a stupid notion since they trained together literally three days ago.

Cloud picks the broadsword.

Johnson can't suppress a snort as he goes for a broadsword of his own, but Cloud's not concerned with him. He tries to get a feel for his chosen weapon's weight as they head to the center of the dojo. Hefty, but not as heavy as Cloud expected. If he can tire out Johnson, it shouldn't be too decisive a victory for the piece of shit.

He meets Johnson's smirk with what he hopes is a flat expression. It must work, because Johnson's brown eyes flicker with something that might be hesitation, then he runs a hand through his dyed-red hair. Cloud keeps his eyes on him as they bow.

"Begin," says Lt. Armstrong.

Cloud immediately sidesteps a slash, then takes a few steps back. Johnson's wide arc gave him an opening, sure, but Cloud's thin. He won't manage to disarm a guy as wide-chested as Jonhson quickly.

Johnson fixes him with a scowl. It was a great opening; bastard's good enough with a sword to know. He wanted Cloud to rush in.

Cloud gives him a small smile.

With a grunt, Johnson rushes him.

But he's slow. Like Carmichael had been. Cloud doesn't even have to block with his broadsword, just dance around Johnson's serviceable, but slow strikes. It's like sparring with Zack when he's purposely going slow just so Cloud can improve his footwork. Except Zack would try to step it up a little, try to make sure Cloud can keep up without getting bored.

Johnson's slashes start getting clumsier sooner than Cloud expected. On a thrust, he gets close enough that Cloud can see the hateful snarl that's taken over his plainly handsome face. He's angry, not exhausted. A dangerous combination.

On the next strike, Cloud ducks instead of sidestepping, then sweeps Jonhson's legs out from under him. Jonhson's sword skids against the mat. Cloud jumps to his feet, then puts his foot over Jonhson's wrist and applies pressure. To his credit, Jonhson does not let go of his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Cloud sees Jonhson's legs twitch. He points his broadsword right under Jonhson's neck. It’s blunt, but in a real fight, it wouldn’t be. That’s the point.

Johnson squirms, but he doesn't yield. He tries to kick Cloud, despite the hold, and Cloud leaps backwards. Johnson careens upwards, panting. Out of exhaustion or rage, Cloud can't tell. By now, it's obvious that he doesn't stand a chance. Cloud isn't even breathing quickly. It's a humiliating defeat, one that Cloud will have to explain, but he's not the one getting his ass handed to him by an opponent half his size. In front of the Firsts.

Cloud bites his lower lip, suddenly ashamed. He looks at the floor, unable to meet Jonhson's betrayed and shocked stare. Even after all of Johnson's nasty comments, he doesn't want to cause the bastard any real damage, emotional or otherwise.

"That's enough!" shouts Lt. Armstrong.

Cloud glances at him, but only because he's already put a couple of feet between himself and Jonhson.

"Strife wins," says Lt. Armstrong.

"No, I haven't-" starts Johnson, agonized.

"It's over," interrupts Lt. Armstrong, aiming a hard stare at Johnson. "In a real fight, he would have crushed your wrist and cut your throat open."

No, Cloud wouldn't have done that. He would have run away. Maybe he's a coward, but he's never wanted to hurt people.

"Don't humiliate yourself further," says Lt. Armstrong. "Cede the match, train, and best him later."

Oh, no. Now, he'll never get rid of Johnson. Cloud's face is probably so red that the Firsts can see with their enhanced vision. The cadets lounging by the losers' side are whispering to each other. Cloud wants Odin to pierce the sky and strike him from the face of Gaia, he's _that_ embarrassed.

Mercifully, Johnson forces himself to give a short bow. Cloud responds as quickly as he can, trying not to look directly at anyone, then follows Johnson to the weapons wrack. He stays several paces behind, still convinced that Johnson might jump him at any moment, and Cloud's so mortified that he might not defend himself. How the fuck had he beat Johnson? So definitively? As Kunsel had said, what the fuck?


	4. Foul Monster Fluid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth contemplates about ShinRa politicking and Zack does some SOLDIER grunt work.
> 
> Cloud Is Fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna give this one last re-through and post it tomorrow, but I got called back to work in person. By to my time of being a dedicated fanfic writer :( 
> 
> Editing will slow down

Picking a broadsword while having such a small frame had been a bold move, though his opponent had not forced Strife to demonstrate his skill. Neither of them - both of Strife’s matches had ended in decisive, effortless victories. The boy's skill is incongruent with the information in all the relevant reports, to put it mildly, but that's not what piques Sephiroth's interest. Strife is not proud of his success; Sephiroth would hazard to guess that he is outright surprised.

Sephiroth doesn't interact with many who can impress him on the battlefield, and Strife is only doing so if compared to his fellow cadets, but something feels. . . off. And not just the discrepancies regarding Strife's formal evaluations.

The remainder of the matches in the second round are uneventful.

Sephiroth has seen all he needs to see. He could just end the entire farce then and there, offering little in the way of explanation. Angeal would not find the issue worth a confrontation, and Genesis is looking bored enough that he might stay quiet about it. He also might argue just to irritate Sephiroth, so it's probably best to try and talk it over with him and make it seem like ending the mock tournament early is his idea.

"Personally, I've seen enough," says Sephiroth.

"Armstrong might be offended if we call things off early," says Angeal.

"So?" demands Genesis. "The man can barely control his cadets."

Excellent. Better if Genesis fights with Angeal.

"Well, just the one," says Angeal.

"Strife is following protocol," says Sephiroth, though he ought to stay quiet. The less Genesis notices him, the better. "Or trying to."

Currently, Strife is standing a few feet away from the other remaining winners,  
shoulders hunched awkwardly as the other cadets openly stare at him. The cadet that had been talking and playing with him before - Kunsel, unless Sephiroth's memory of the cadet files is failing him - had lost his match. Cloud shoots longing looks to the cadets lounging on the losers' side, as though he wishes to sit among them.

It makes no sense. Angeal and Genesis hadn't managed to beat him yet, but Sephiroth likes to watch them spar occasionally. That's not how winners act. Angeal would be proud of his wins, though trying not to show it. Genesis would be rubbing it in his face. Not that Strife's skill is comparable to either, or that two people is an acceptable sample size to draw conclusions from, even if he limits the population to SOLDIERS, but Sephiroth never spars with anyone else and so has no one else to compare Strife to. The other winning cadets are talking amongst themselves with an air of excitement and pride, but even Sephiroth can tell that they stand separate from Strife, occasionally gazing at him with confused suspicion.

"Maybe," says Genesis, forcing Sephiroth to think back to what he said about Strife trying to follow protocol. "But it seems he has been lying about his true skills. Little Strife has an agenda."

"But if he's pretending to be weaker for some reason, why would he drop the act now?" asks Angeal.

"To impress us, of course," says Genesis.

"Not everyone is obsessed with recognition," says Sephiroth. Social isolation or not, he can see that much just from interacting with Angeal. And Tseng, to a lesser extent.

"And it's not like he's _amazing_ or anything," says Angeal, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Just significantly more skilled than anticipated. All that does is make us suspect him of subterfuge."

"Perhaps seeing us has ignited some fire within him, and he's performing at his full potential," says Genesis.

Sephiroth prays for patience. And since there are no deities, he doesn't get any. "Real life isn't an epic poem, Genesis. Inner fire, or whatever metaphor strikes your fancy, doesn't translate to skill or success."

He regrets the brief speech before all the words are out of his mouth. Genesis' expression twists, and his shoulders tense. One wrong word and Sephiroth will have to duel him bloody to get him to back off, an option that actually appeals to him despite their audience.

"Now's not the time for this," hisses Angeal.

Sephiroth refuses to feel guilty about needling Genesis. It’s not his fault that Genesis' brain has rotted away thanks to a single ridiculous play. Maybe if Genesis hadn’t wasted years writing thousands upon thousands of words worth of analysis of the thing, enough to earn a comparative literature PhD on the subject, he would be able to best Sephiroth with a blade.

 _That's a bit uncharitable, no?_ Sephiroth frowns at himself, which Genesis thankfully misses because he's having a whispered argument with Angeal.

He's honestly nowhere near as irritating as he gets on his worst days. Sephiroth must be the one frazzled. _Don't let your emotions rule you, boy, _Hojo used to tell him. _They're involuntary phenomena that you must endure but never indulge. Never make a decision while your mind is clouded by irritation and impatience.___

____Lt. Armstrong starts readying for the next round without coming over to ask for input while Genesis and Angeal bicker under their breath. The screen opposite the weapons rack displays the upcoming duels, and Sephiroth fights back an urge to curse. His chance to end the farce early with minimal disruptions is done, and he hasn't even gotten a chance to float Strife as their chosen spy. Unless. . ._ _ _ _

____"We should pick him," says Sephiroth, cutting through Angeal and Genesis' argument. "Strife, I mean. It'll be easier to keep an eye on him if we keep him close by."_ _ _ _

____"Hm," says Genesis, as the participants of the next duel select their weapons. One of them goes for nunchucks - an unusual enough weapon that soothes Sephiroth’s irritation at missing the opportunity to end the tournament._ _ _ _

____"If he's a Turk plant, a sudden reassignment will annoy Prince ShinRa," says Angeal._ _ _ _

____"True," says Genesis, smirking. "It'll be, as they say, striking two birds with one stone."_ _ _ _

_____Shooting_ , Sephiroth thinks. _ _ _ _

____But he's not about to correct Genesis immediately after getting what he wants.____

* * *

____"Eurgh." Zack hacks out a cough that feels like it's coming straight from his entrails, gagging piteously as the rancid blood from the tainted - and massive - drake he'd just defeated hits his mouth, nose, and eyes. " _Gross_."_ _ _ _

____"You need some water?" Cissnei yells, all chirpy and from a safe distance._ _ _ _

____Zack doubles over, gagging as he puts most of his weight on his heels. It's like someone dunked his head in a bag of rotting blood and curdled milk. He spits out as much as he can, then pulls at the hem of his shirt to wipe the gunk off his face._ _ _ _

____"This is the fucking worst mission!” he yells._ _ _ _

____"Catch!" yells Cissnei._ _ _ _

____He catches the water bottle she throws, glancing back at the monster corpse. It's not returning to the Lifestream right away. Zack takes a big swallow and tries to rinse his mouth as best he can. He considers hacking the corpse into dozens of little, sickly blue-green pieces so the accursed thing disappears quicker._ _ _ _

____"Tell me that's the last one," says Zack, as he washes his face._ _ _ _

____"Sorry, we gotta make two more stops," says Cissnei. "I'll be quick, don't worry." She passes by him, pulling out mako-filled phials so she can hack a few pieces off the monster. How the pieces don't just vanish. . ._ _ _ _

____Zack is not going to ask questions - it's above his pay grade, blahblahblah. He looks around the shitty cave they've hiked to, doing his best to ignore how uneasy the entire mission is making him. It's just monsters, after all. ShinRa's science department should be investigating why they're mutating, and why it's taking so much longer for them to return to the Lifestream when they die._ _ _ _

____Reports of mutated, discolored, and stronger monsters have been reaching Midgar for weeks. They tend to grow pale and mottled, with bulging blood vessels visible just under their skin, pulsating with neon blood that resembles raw mako. Most of them time, it takes either a SOLDIER or a fully armed platoon to take them down. If one hits some town or village, which Zack bets has already happened, it'll be a fucking bloodbath._ _ _ _

____"There, all done," says Cissnei, rising to her feet._ _ _ _

____Zack looks at her hands as she pulls them out of her fanny pack. A Turk with a fanny pack wrapped around a pristine black suit is an absurd look wasted on Cissnei. She would just smile serenely at any snide comment, so Zack saves them. He almost wishes Reno was on the mission, since he would have whined all the way up to the cave, giving Zack someone to commiserate with. Cissnei somehow manages to keep her red curls all bouncy and her outward demeanor cheerful._ _ _ _

____"Why so down, Zack?" she asks, patting his shoulder._ _ _ _

____"My shirt's gonna smell like rotting monster goo all the way down and back to the airship," says Zack._ _ _ _

____"Oh, you can take it off," says Cissnei. "Give me a nice view all the way down."_ _ _ _

____Zack tries to smile, but he hasn't quite gotten rid of the rancid taste, so it comes out like a grimace. It's not a bad idea, even if Cissnei is only complimenting him to snap him out of his funk. Or maybe not; Zack does look good with his shirt off. He pulls it over his head and responds to Cissnei's whistle with a thumbs up. Better to keep positive. The Planet only knows how many monsters are left._ _ _ _

____They make it back to the airship in record time, and Zack goes through the motions of making a quip about it. The airship is small, a helicopter that doesn't make as much noise, essentially. There's barely enough room to stretch his legs and do some squats without bumping into Cissnei's knees. He has to get close to the pilot to rummage through his rucksack for an extra shirt, no doubt blasting the man with _eu da rancid_. _ _ _ _

____"Are you okay?" asks Cissnei._ _ _ _

____"What?"_ _ _ _

____"You've been moping this entire mission," says Cissnei._ _ _ _

____"No, I haven't," says Zack, glancing at the pilot - an anonymous Turk in the typical black suit, gaze hidden behind dark sunglasses._ _ _ _

____"Come on, Zack." Cissnei hits him with a pout. "I thought you'd love this mission: it has challenging monsters, sightseeing, deeply grateful, sweet town girls from Kalm."_ _ _ _

____"Something's wrong with those monsters," says Zack, because it's true, and also because it will distract Cissnei from what's really bothering him: Cloud trembling like a leaf and begging not to be taken to the labs._ _ _ _

____"I thought you'd like the challenge," says Cissnei._ _ _ _

____"Sure, but what happens when I'm not there?" says Zack._ _ _ _

____"Oh?"_ _ _ _

____"Or some other SOLDIER," says Zack. "If these things got to Kalm, which is not even that far out in the sticks, you can be sure they've eaten people in smaller towns already."_ _ _ _

____"Color me surprised that you thought about it that much, you sweetheart," says Cissnei._ _ _ _

____"What?" says Zack, genuinely irritated for once. "Sorry I'm not all 'Me, Big SOLDIER muscle' at you."_ _ _ _

____"But you do have big muscles, Zack," says Cissnei._ _ _ _

____"Well. . . they could be bigger," says Zack._ _ _ _

____Cissnei smiles. "You've got a couple of growth spurts in you, just you wait."_ _ _ _

____Probably not, but Zack doesn't want to get much bigger anyway. At a certain point, muscle mass compromises mobility. He sighs._ _ _ _

____"ShinRa has every intention of investigating the source of these corrupted monsters," says Cissnei, all traces of humor gone. "It's why you're here in the first place."_ _ _ _

____"Yeah, I'm sure the president is beside himself with worry over the boondocks," says Zack._ _ _ _

____"Of course!" says Cissnei. "And he's sure gonna protect the supply lines to Midgard."_ _ _ _

____That's true. Very true. Zack opens his mouth, but is interrupted by his vibrating PHS. He reaches into the side pocket of his standard issue cargo pants, then frowns at the vaguely familiar number. Maybe it's a wrong call from some ShinRa bureaucrat. "Look familiar?" he asks Cissnei, showing her the screen._ _ _ _

____"That's the landline from your apartment," says Cissnei._ _ _ _

____"Oh." Suddenly, Zack recognizes the number. "Who. . . _oh_." There's only one person it could be. He answers immediately. "Hello?"_ _ _ _

____"Zack?" Cloud sounds hesitant, but otherwise calm._ _ _ _

____"Yeah, it's me," says Zack, relieved. He glances at Cissnei out the corner of his eye. She seems to be playing with her own PHS, but Zack would bet his sword arm that she's memorizing his side of the conversation. "You okay?"_ _ _ _

____"Yeah, fine," Cloud says quickly. Too quickly._ _ _ _

____"Do you need something?" asks Zack, hoping he doesn't sound too abrupt. But he can't reassure Cloud too explicitly while two Turks are listening in._ _ _ _

____Zack likes most of them well enough - even Reno - but he's not dumb enough to want the Turks to have too many details of his private life._ _ _ _

____The silence drags on._ _ _ _

____"Hey," says Zack, unwilling to even say Cloud's name on the off chance that ShinRa doesn't know exactly who's at his apartment. "You're okay, right?"_ _ _ _

_____Come on, Cloud. Just talk to me._ _ _ _ _

____"Yeah, I'm good." Another pause. "I was wondering if I could stay at your apartment for a bit," says Cloud._ _ _ _

____Zack doesn't bother to hide a relieved sag. "Yeah, of course." He must have offered Cloud the place a hundred times by now, though he's hardly gonna say that in front of Cissnei._ _ _ _

____Or even in private. Cloud might decide he's being annoying and flee the apartment to face whatever chased him there to begin with._ _ _ _

____"You're not gonna ask why?" asks Cloud._ _ _ _

____"No. Listen, I have to get back to my mission," says Zack. "You can stay for as long as you like; talk to you when I get back."_ _ _ _

____"Okay."_ _ _ _

____Cissnei shoots him a look when he hangs up the PHS. "You could've just talked to whoever that was," she says._ _ _ _

____"Oh, it's nothing important," says Zack. "I'm like, laser-focused on fucked-up monsters right now. Let me at 'em."_ _ _ _

____"We're in the ship," says Cissnei._ _ _ _

____"Two minutes before we start landing," says the pilot._ _ _ _

____"There you go," says Zack, pointing at his forehead. "Like SOLDIER sixth sense."_ _ _ _

* * *

____Well, now what? He'd gone and bothered Zack, so what's the rest of the plan?_ _ _ _

____Cloud rubs his arms nervously, looking around Zack's apartment as though he's never seen it before. He gets up to pull down the blinds. In case someone is spying on him? Nevermind that Zack lives on the fortieth floor of ShinRa's residential skyscraper? He's not exactly being rational, but in his defense, it's possible that he hit his head somewhere, fell into a coma, and is currently living through a bizarre, pre-death dream-hallucination._ _ _ _

____By Ramuh's electrified balls, he's going to be Sephiroth's _secretary_. _ _ _ _

____First Class Liaison, they'd said. What are they expecting him to _liaise_? With who? Why him? _ _ _ _

____Cloud had won the tournament, trying not to have a breakdown the entire time. He'd considered throwing his next match after the Johnson fiasco, but had quickly realized that he had no idea how to do such a thing without making it absolutely obvious to everyone spectating. Especially his opponent. It would have raised more questions, and boy, does Cloud have questions to answer. It's why he'd run to Zack's apartment right after Lt. Armstrong and the Firsts had informed him of what he'd "won". Once his fellow cadets heard of the “prize”, they would murder Cloud in his sleep._ _ _ _

____"Do I have to?" he'd asked when Lt. Armstrong explained that, going forward, he'd be working directly with the Firsts._ _ _ _

____Lt. Armstrong had looked like his head would explode from shock and embarrassment, and Cloud added, rather stupidly, that he was quite happy where he was, thank you for the honor, and fuck knows what else, but he would rather continue his training with the other cadets._ _ _ _

____"We aren't concerned with your happiness, Strife," Sephiroth had said. "Report to my office tomorrow, starting at oh-eight-hundred hours."_ _ _ _

____Cloud almost vomits at the memory. He can't tell if it's because Sephiroth knows who he is and doesn't seem pleased about it, or because of Sephiroth in general. It may sound like he's been dropped in his dream life, but it's more like he's in a survival horror game, and at any given moment, Sephiroth will sprout tentacles and try to eat him. Cloud laughs, and he's glad no one else is in the apartment because he probably doesn't sound okay._ _ _ _

____After the Firsts left, Lt. Armstrong asked him why he'd hidden his skills for so long. Cloud had stared dumbly. He had not. But there isn't any other logical explanation for his miraculous victory. It's why he fled to Zack's apartment. He's not so much scared of his bullies as he is of looking crazy. Nibelheim had called his ma crazy for Cloud's entire life. Probably longer than that. Cloud had gotten the label too, but something about it bites differently when he’s also_ doubting his sanity. _ _ _

___The night is interminable. Cloud tries watching TV, but commercials are prone to mentioning ShinRa's prized First Class SOLDIERs, so Cloud turns it off. Silence reminds him of the cadets he'll have to face. Not his bullies, but Kunsel, and even Carmichael. He's gonna get a stomach ulcer just thinking about it. Maybe he can flee Midgard, just up and leave. Not even Midgard. He could get a job below the plates and never have to face anyone he knows ever again._ _ _

___Oh fuck, how is he gonna get his uniform for tomorrow?_ _ _

___"Fuck," Cloud says to himself. He has to go back to the barracks._ _ _

___Frantically, he searches Zack's closet. Not the one in his bedroom - Cloud wouldn't dare - but the guest one by the door. Maybe there's something there that would fit him._ _ _

___Of course not. There are some coats Zack uses to go out on the weekends to wherever cool people with money go, but none of them fit Cloud. Even if they did, it's not like he can report to Sephiroth tomorrow in nothing but a borrowed coat. He'll have to go back to the barracks. Best to do it quickly, during shift change to minimize the chance of running into anyone._ _ _

___Somehow, he manages to get in and out of the barracks without having to face a single cadet. They must be in class or training. The world is still churning along, regardless of Cloud’s drama. It always will, and he should keep that in mind when he starts worrying that everyone is fixated on him. He spares a moment to be grateful that they're trained to have a rucksack ready for emergencies, then hightails it out of the tiny barrack bedroom. Then he curses and rushes inside to leave a note under his pillow for Kunsel, though there's no guarantee that he'll think to look there any time soon. Or at all._ _ _

___Once he's back at Zack's apartment, Cloud realizes that he has no more distractions. He wishes he _had_ run into someone on his shirt trip to the barracks, if only so it had taken more time. Maybe if he goes back, he'll run into Johnson and land himself in the hospital. His heart pounds in his chest all of a sudden, like a desperate rabbit trying to kick out of a trap. It's a stray thought that all but sends him spiraling into a panic attack. Silly, as Johnson wouldn't risk his position at ShinRa by doing significant harm to any recruit. _ _ _

___The hours keep ticking by, almost taunting Cloud with their slowness. He tries to nap, but he’s just too nervous. PT helps, so he runs through circuits of squats, push-ups, and burpees for hours. It doesn’t tire him the way it should, barely gets his heart rate up, but he isn’t going to think about that. He’s just doing it at a calmer pace, since there are no other cadets to keep up with. Eventually, he stops and watches TV until the awful day comes to an end._ _ _

___Cloud pulls up the blinds to look down on Midgard’s night lights. As always, it's a stunning sight, like seeing the night's sky from the opposite direction. His ma would love it. She'd say that the lights must fill Odin with pride for his children. He ought to borrow Zack's PHS for a picture. Cloud has to pull himself together. The day had been objectively great, a dream come true. There's no reason to fantasize about running away. It's not like he has anywhere to go._ _ _

___Abruptly, he decides to write Tifa another letter. Maybe the other two he sent got lost, or stolen by her father. He'll address it to his ma and ask her to give it to Tifa next time he calls. Claudia is a clever woman. She'll make sure Tifa gets it without alerting her father._ _ _


	5. Board Meeting Pre-Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ShinRa Bros being corporate bros.
> 
> Also Sephiroth's daily routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough week in general, but working on my little fic remains relaxing.
> 
> Hope you're all hanging in there.

Trying to get ShinRa’s higher-ups to behave with any kind of sense is no different than herding pre-teen orphans in the slums. No, it’s worse. At least the slum orphans had recognized that Lazard had their best interests at heart, even if they often disagreed with his methods. His efficient, reasonable, and almost always benign methods. ShinRa executives, on the other hand, tend to get more combative once Lazard has proved them wrong. He’s still in his office past working hours, as is usual - this time because the Firsts had to be convinced (again) that it’s in their best interests to have someone managing their schedules. Sephiroth, most of all, and he tends not to require as much work as Rhapsodos. At least it’s a nice office - the corner office, in fact. Whenever he wants, Lazard can gaze down at Midgard’s vast skyscrapers. His father’s shining city reaching out to the heavens - man’s triumph over nature itself. At night, its lights look very much like a sea of stars. That’s what the plate-dwellers say, anyway. The people of the slums - Lazard’s people - see only the steel sky.

Lazard has no idea why he has the best office on the SOLDIER floor. It’s probably a combination of President ShinRa wanting to teach someone a lesson and General Sephiroth not caring about such status symbols. The man might not even realize that Lazard has been assigned the top piece of escritorial real estate on the SOLDIER floor.

He's wasting valuable time. A meeting with President ShinRa himself looms ever closer, and all the departmental directors are on the verge of assassinating each other. Lazard is not too concerned; SOLDIERs more than pay for themselves, and even if they didn't, President ShinRa doesn't shy away from spending money on his military. Reeve Tuesti, on the other hand, will be asking for both money and manpower in order to improve infrastructure in the slums. Lazard has been communicating with the man and plans to assist as best he can. Better if that happens in the background, away from ShinRa politicking. Due to his familial relationship with President ShinRa, Lazard is knee-deep in the swamp of ShinRa politicking. His plans get shot down merely because people hate him.

Someone pushes into Lazard's office without bothering to knock.

"Hello, Rufus," says Lazard, without looking up. No one else would be so rude, not even Scarlet.

"Hello, my dear brother," says Rufus.

"I don't know why you call me that," says Lazard, gaze focused on Tuesti's blueprints. It looks like fancy gibberish.

He has to brush up on engineering and architecture if he really plans to join forces with the Head of Urban Development.

"Are you not my brother?" asks Rufus.

"I'm certainly not your dear," says Lazard, looking up.

As usual, Rufus wears a pristine, perfectly tailored white suit. One of the tabloids would probably say he looks like an angel emerging out of Midgard's nightlights, framed as he is by the window. Secretaries titter about how much they look alike when they think Lazard is too far away to hear. Lazard doesn't see the resemblance, beyond both of them being blonds. Rufus looks like a doll.

"What do you want?" asks Lazard.

"For both of us to walk out of the next board meeting with exactly what we want," says Rufus.

Lazard narrows his eyes. "I don't want anything in particular from the next meeting," he lies.

"Come now," dismisses Rufus, walking forward to sit without waiting for an invitation. "I know you're paying attention to Tuesti's plans, and no one does."

How the hell does Rufus know that? Lazard is looking at the plans on a laptop screen.

"Tuesti also spoke directly to me, if you're wondering," says Rufus, reaching into his pocket to pull out the coin he loves to play with.

Of course. The man has no instinct for corporate politics, treats the ordeal like a student at a university searching for a thesis advisor. For a low-stakes project on the deeper societal implications of evolving street art that requires minimal funding.

“He’ll be thrilled to have your support,” says Lazard. So is Lazard himself, but he knows better than to give any indication about it.

“And he doesn’t have yours?”

“Of course, I will assist in any way I’m able to,” says Lazard. “Provided it does not interfere with my department’s best interests.”

“Hm.” Rufus’ coin flies high, flips several times, and lands smoothly between Rufus’ fingers. “Little Lizard abandoning the slums. Who would’ve guessed?”

Lazard shrugs, refusing to react to the old nickname. “ShinRa has no room for lizards.”

Rufus laughs - genuinely, for once - the mirth takes over his entire face, briefly making him look less like a magazine spread. There aren’t many people who can afford such open displays of emotion.

“As interesting as I find your visit, Mr. Vice President, I fear I must return to my work,” says Lazard. “I wish you and Dr. Tuesti the best of luck.”

“Of course,” says Rufus, pocketing his coin and standing up. “I do miss our time together, Lazard. We shouldn’t need a business excuse to see each other.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I have a holiday,” says Lazard. “Or have your secretary call my secretary, perhaps?”

Rufus inclines his head, then leaves without another word. A few seconds after the door closes behind him, Lazard lays his head on his desk. Little Lizard. . . when had he last heard that old nickname? Months ago? Or had it been years? The boy who grew up under Midgard’s steel sky gets weaker every day. He can tell himself that Tuesti has a better chance to get his plans accomplished with a few powerful allies rather than a large group of competing interests. That his department is largely a military unit best suited to follow orders. That President ShinRa might balk if he sees both of his sons joining forces, even if just to improve the living conditions of Midgard’s sewer rats.

Dr. Tuesti’s proposal would have ShinRa Electric Company renovate the sewer system to decrease the amount of mako pollution leaking into the slums. The very same mako leakages that are ravaging the neighborhoods below the plate, both by triggering a myriad of diseases and providing raw mako dealers with their addictive poison. The plan would cost millions in gil and countless hours in manpower, all of which could be spent expanding ShinRa’s global reach and streamlining its supply chains to Midgard’s wealthy elites. There is little talk of profit in Tuesti’s proposal beside speculation that an improvement in slum real estate could persuade “higher quality people” to move to the slums. Lazard had smiled when he read that line. As if pretty architecture would convince anyone to move below the steel sky. Tuesti has better intentions than every other ShinRa executive, but he has not lived in the gutter. He trusts that the people trapped there are stuck in a cage of their own creation.

Illusions - well-intentioned ones, if a tad condescending and classist. Tuesti is fairly easy to read.

Why is Rufus showing interest, though? That one is harder to understand. Prince ShinRa has been raised from the crib to be a vicious businessman, to treat his future company like a kingdom in which he must neutralize all internal and external competitors. He had been the one who sought out Lazard in the slums, long before Lazard had ever entertained the possibility that his father might be the richest man on the Planet. His mother had certainly never mentioned the man, so why would he? She had warned of a powerful man with powerful enemies, but held all specifics close to her chest.

Honestly? Lazard had suspected Don Corneo of being his father - had never broached the subject with the man, because they looked nothing alike physically. He had climbed Don Corneo’s hierarchy though, working steadily to collect the Don’s “taxes” from struggling Wall Market businesses. As far as he had seen, they’d feasted on the orphans and addicts just as viciously as the Don, but on a smaller scale. Meanwhile, he’d skimmed a bit of the Don’s profit’s on the side to give back to the slums, though never enough to trigger the Don’s radar. Lazard had never had a coherent plan; he had not gotten enough time for one. During one of his trips topside, he’d run into Prince Rufus ShinRa himself.

Lazard had not known why Rufus ShinRa showed interest in him. Hell, he had not recognized him as Rufus ShinRa at first, but just as a rich blond boy filled with ennui and possibly the beginnings of a mako habit that he was still capable of hiding. Lazard had been willing enough to guide him below the plates - for a price. One that he had collected on with interest. But Lazard is wasting time ruminating on things that have long passed. Sighing, Lazard closes the laptop and stands up. He should sweep the small office he has set aside for Cloud Strife, then head home. If Rufus is really interested in Tuesti’s project, then it will be realized in some form or other. The only question is what it will cost Tuesti.

The next day, Lazard comes to work early to meet with Strife, who had been instructed to come see him before reporting to General Sephiroth. Much like Rufus, the boy looks like a doll, though one with a different target audience. He looks younger than his seventeen years in his pristine SOLDIER cadet uniform, which has no pauldrons to make his shoulders look wider. There’s a hint of musculature to his arms, but he’s still thin and short, with dainty wrists and a hint of baby fat still notable in his facial features. Lazard hardly believes Lt. Armstrong’s report that he must have successfully hidden his true skills for a year, considering he looks like a pampered high-class teenager wearing a SOLDIER costume.

Thankfully, he does not behave like one. Cloud Strife accepts his new office with a quiet nod, not voicing a single complaint about the lack of windows or space. He has all that he needs, in Lazard’s opinion: a desk, desktop computer, a shelf, and a cabinet. Lazard had started in the mailroom.

Strife does ask about his new work hours, but doesn’t press when Lazard tells him that he should work that out with the Firsts. “Am I expected to be here all the time?” he asks, as he pulls out the small chair by the solitary desk.

“As long as you carry out your duties, you can be wherever you like,” says Lazard.

Strife nods.

Most people would take that as an opportunity to slack off, or engage in whatever interference or corporate espionage is their true intent. Lazard has given him more than enough rope to hang himself with. Now it’s time to see if Strife will do so.

* * *

Sephiroth manages to forget the cadet about to disrupt his carefully crafted schedule through his training session with Genesis. It must be why he puts up with Genesis' tedious company - the man always puts up a fight during their spars, alleviating a bit of Sephiroth's boredom. Even if his neck always ends up under Sephiroth's Masamune, reddish eyes flashing with rage.

"Yield," spits Genesis.

Sephiroth steps back, knowing better than to offer Genesis a hand getting to his feet. Today has not been a good day for him; he lasted less than twenty minutes, and Sephiroth isn't even breathing quickly. He would ask what's wrong, but again, Genesis is being Genesis. He glances at Angeal instead, a question in his gaze.

Angeal shrugs and rubs the back of his neck.

"Again," says Genesis, rising to his feet in a smooth motion.

"It's Angeal's turn," says Sephiroth.

"I don't mind," says Angeal.

Sephiroth's mouth tightens, but fine. He doesn't actually care. If Genesis is in a masochistic mood, then he'll be a good friend and deliver.

It isn't a satisfying morning, though Genesis does manage to get a bit more challenging, at least until rage and frustration get the best of him and turn him clumsy. Why, in the name of Gaia, is Genesis so obsessed with beating him? They are not true enemies, so a victory against him should be all but meaningless. Sephiroth would be outright thrilled if someone beat him in what is supposed to be a friendly duel. It would, if nothing else, give him an objective.

But such conversations with Genesis lead only to shouting and incomprehensible rants about heroism and epic journeys that are probably metaphorical or allegorical or some other ridiculous thing. Sephiroth is in no mood for Genesis' _Loveless_ -liquefied brain, so he bows to both him and Angeal a little earlier than planned and heads to the showers. There are tedious meetings to attend, including one with Heidegger's aunt who runs a charity in the slums that never seems to accomplish anything.

He doesn't remember Strife until he finds the boy waiting by his office's front door. He seems even smaller in his cadet uniform, his spiky, blond hair more ridiculous than Sephiroth recalls. He bows respectfully without meeting Sephiroth's eyes, then waits.

"Follow me," says Sephiroth, after a few tense seconds.

The idea for a "liason" for the Firsts comes, allegedly, from Director Lazard. Sephiroth has his doubts about that - Lazard is one of the rare ShinRa bureaucrats who seems concerned with efficiency, so if he'd seen a need for such a position, he would have assigned it personally - but questioning it directly is not advisable. In fact, taking some of Lazard's advice might pay off in the future, when they argue to eliminate the position forever.

"Do you have a PHS?" Sephiroth asks, though he knows the answer.

"No, sir," says Strife.

As expected of a rank-and-file ShinRa employee with no familial wealth. Sephiroth walks around his desk to open a drawer. "You've been assigned one," he tells Strife, tossing him one of ShinRa's latest models.

Strife catches it, eyes wide.

"And here's a copy of my, Angeal, and Genesis' schedules," adds Sephiroth, tapping a manila folder on his desk. "Your job will be to field phone calls, meeting requests, and queries, and meet me here at 20:00 daily."

Strife steps forward hesitantly to grab the folder. "That's all?"

"And be available in case I need you," says Sephiroth.

"But. . . what am I supposed to do all day?" asks Strife, looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

Up close, he looks even younger. It makes Sephiroth wonder if someone else altogether won the mock tournament.

"You can do what you like," says Sephiroth. "Just be available."

"Okay," says Strife, looking down.

"That's all for now, Strife," says Sephiroth. He has to meet with Lazard soon and doesn't intend to have his liaison for an audience.

He expects Strife to bow and flee, but the boy holds his ground.

"Do you need something?" asks Sephiroth, unused to a mere cadet not rushing to carry out his orders.

"Just, sir," Strife swallows. "When's my day off now?"

Day off? Ah, yes. A strange concept for Sephiroth, who is essentially ShinRa's property, but most employees do have personal time built into their contracts. Sephiroth doesn't even _have_ a contract.

"One day a week should be enough," says Sephiroth.

Strife glances at him for a second, then goes back to staring at his feet.

"Which day would you prefer?" asks Sephiroth.

"Saturday, sir."

"Fine," says Sephiroth. "You're dismissed."

Strife _still_ doesn't leave.

Sephiroth doesn't know if he's impressed, offended, or intrigued.

"Sir, one last thing," says Strife. "What about my training?"

"What about it?"

"I was supposed to be training for the SOLDIER exams," says Strife. "They told me - I mean the science department - they said I could try again, and I don't think Lt. Armstrong would want me coming in and out of training sessions."

"No, he would not." Sephiroth considers telling him to keep going anyway and direct Lt. Armstrong's objections his way.

"Sir, my group's training sessions are in the afternoon from 13:00-15:00 hours, so if I could just get that time off, I could keep going."

"I'll consider the issue," says Sephiroth, since he doesn't want to disrupt Lt. Armstrong's lessons or completely take over Strife's life. Despite the apparent inconsistencies of his records and skills, he might be an innocent bystander in ShinRa's games. "Now, you're dismissed. Go see Director Lazard two doors down in the corner office so he can show you to your own office."

Cloud bows without further questions or complaints, sparing Sephiroth the necessity of reprimanding him. His meeting with Lazard will start in about half an hour, and he wants Strife out of his hair before the man marches into his office with his stack of files, white suit, and keen blue eyes.

The meeting turns out to be more of the same: monsters continue to mutate (due to the negative effects of mako extraction, not that anyone in ShinRa brings it up), and SOLDIERs continue to handle it in a fashion that satisfies President ShinRa. Sephiroth looks through his SOLDIERs' reports while Lazard updates him, both proud of their efficiency and frustrated that his direct intervention is not needed. Many SOLDIERs are reporting rabid monsters that can take way more damage than expected, exhausting to fight even when they are less agile. Worst, some are finding corpses that refuse to fade into the Lifestream, and if it keeps happening closer to the more affluent neighborhoods, the stink will bother Midgar's high society.

"So far, the situation is still under control," says Lazard in his crisp voice, "but I maintain that we must assume that the issue will not be resolved until the source of the problem is found and eliminated."

"I don't disagree," says Sephiroth, "but such investigations are beyond a SOLDIER's skills. We should let the science department do its job regarding the necessary research."

"Perhaps," says Lazard, meaning he wants to disagree but has something more important to argue about. "However, I don't see why we can't prepare in other ways, such as increasing the number of cadets admitted to the SOLDIER program."

Sephiroth has to suppress a frown. They've been going over this for weeks. Increasing the SOLDIER ranks means providing Hojo (and Hollander) with even more human subjects, and one of the few pleasures of Sephiroth's life is obstructing that monster in any small way he can. Not that he can say that, of course.

"We have been over this multiple times, Director," says Sephiroth. "SOLDIERs are valuable because we are highly skilled, and we are highly skilled because we have stringent entrance requirements. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other meetings to attend."

He doesn't, but Lazard can't admit to knowing that without admitting that he has Sephiroth's schedule memorized.

The rest of the day is less hectic than most, except for the hour Sephiroth takes to try a new mushroom sauce recipe for his _filet mignon_. By the time he's savoring the tangy edge of his new sauce, he notices that his PHS has not rung once all day. Sephiroth checks it to make certain that he hasn't accidentally put it on silent, but no. No new calls. The world must have ended while he cooked.

Or Strife is fielding his calls. Successfully.

Well, Sephiroth will not investigate further.

He sets the PHS on the loudest ringtone before starting his PT routine. For the first time in as long as he can remember, he gets through his light warm up without interruptions. It’s almost as disruptive as the interruptions themselves, at first. But he gets lost in his katas soon enough, and by the end of his workout, his hairline is damp with sweat and his muscles loose with satisfaction. Without interruptions, he managed to finish with plenty of time to spare for his daily meeting with Angeal and Genesis.

He uses the time to thoroughly massage his hair while sitting in a warm bath. As a child, he distracted himself from Hojo's painful experiments by playing with his hair. Or pulling on it to experience pain that he could control. Hojo had not been concerned with his specimen's physical appearance, so his hair had been left unmolested until it grew long enough to irritate his caretakers. Sephiroth had accidentally killed the lab tech who tried to cut it. He had not meant to do it; the tech had been a stout older woman who had treated him with relative kindness, though Sephiroth had long since forgotten her name. She had died only because Sephiroth had not known the scope of his own strength.

No one had dared to try and cut his hair since.

He's read that most people with hair as long as his need to dedicate a lot more time to it than he does; he would probably have to shave his head if split ends and dandruff were a serious concern. His remains pristinely silky despite the length and thickness; the bangs give him more trouble than anything. Another sign of his inhuman nature, or so Sephiroth supposes, but at least he likes his hair. His eyes, odd pupils, and sickly-pale skin make him look like a reptilian corpse, but his hair is actually a source of great envy.

If the S.O.N. is to be believed. The information from that awful social network must be taken with a grain of salt, but Sephiroth doesn't think there's any harm in believing that his hair is beautiful.

The lack of interruption must be melting his brain if he's wasting time on such pointless musings. Sephiroth shakes his head and gets on with the process of bathing. Angeal and Genesis will be at his apartment soon, and then, he'll have to meet Strife in his office. 


	6. Interpersonal Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud's first few days as ShinRa's most twinkiest secretary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost didn't make this update because I decided to go back and add a bunch of stuff at the last minute.
> 
> Thanks for Ro for getting some edits in at the last minute, though course I went and added even more shit after she read this part lol. Any obvious typos or nonsense are all on me!

"Did everyone die today?" Genesis asks after Sephiroth greets them.

"What do you mean?" asks Sephiroth.

Genesis frowns at him while Angeal sighs like a forlorn lover, gazing at Sephiroth's beautifully laid-out dining table with naked longing that Genesis privately sympathizes with. Sephiroth's cooking is downright artistic, not that Genesis is about admit it to anyone, least of all the man himself. His ego is already as tall as the ShinRa skyscraper.

"Oh, this is new," says Angeal, as he tastes a piece of bread soaked in Sephiroth's steak sauce.

"I strayed a bit from the recipe and added red onions rather than white," says Sephiroth, sounding as close to excited as he ever does.

"It's _magnificent_ ," says Angeal.

"Thank you," says Sephiroth, smiling like a shy maiden from a cheap five-gil romance comic. He's even done his hair up in a partially braided bun that would quickly become the most common hairstyle in Midgar if a paparazzo ever caught a picture of it.

"Did you hear me?" snaps Genesis.

"You didn't say anything, so no," says Sephiroth.

"He's attention-starved from getting zero calls all day," says Angeal, the traitor.

"Ah, yes," says Sephiroth, "Strife started his new position, and it appears he's performing admirably."

"It has to be some kind of Turk scheme," says Genesis, because it _must_ be. How else could Strife have blocked every single ShinRa imbecile for the entire day?

"If it is, I'm enjoying the reprieve while it lasts," says Sephiroth.

"But at what costs?" demands Genesis.

"Literally none, apparently," says Sephiroth. "Strife hasn't bothered me once all day."

"He blocked Gen too," says Angeal, speaking as he chews like some kind of savage.

"What?" asks Sephiroth.

"He _didn't,_ " says Genesis. "I simply called my direct subordinate."

"It was beautiful," says Angeal, the _absolute_ traitor who is certainly not getting laid that night. "Gen tried to go all SOLDIER on the kid, and he went _Ok, sir, but what do I tell General Sephiroth when he asks what you need?_ "

Curse a SOLDIER's superior hearing for letting Angeal in on both sides of the conversation.

"What _did_ you need?" asks Sephiroth. "You could've just called me directly, you know?"

"Absolutely nothing," says Angeal. "Like I said, the day went smooth as cream."

"I doubt it," says Genesis. "Why hasn't Strife reported any messages to us?"

"I told him to see me at my office at 20:00 hours with his report."

"Sephiroth!" Angeal rubs his forehead.

"What if there's an emergency, you fool?" snaps Genesis.

"They'd have ignored him and called us directly," dismisses Sephiroth with a wave of his hand.

"That implies people in this institution are reasonable," says Angeal. "For all we know, there's a platoon of dead Thirds right now we could have rescued."

"Or less urgent issues that should have been handled today," says Genesis, mentally wincing at how dramatic Angeal sounds (and yes, he does understand how the sentiment is somewhat hypocritical coming from him).

"Perhaps," says Sephiroth. "Or perhaps we should've had a liaison all this time to screen frivolous calls and force ShinRa's bureaucracy to do what they're supposed to."

With a grunt, Genesis pulls out his PHS. Sephiroth had been the most resistant to Lazard's idea in the first place, and now, he wants to preen obnoxiously while Strife ruins their reputation.

"Hello, this is Cadet Strife," says the boy after two rings. "How can I help you?"

"It's Commander Rhapsodos," says Genesis, glaring at Sephiroth. "Do you know where my office is?"

"No, sir."

"Then meet me by Sephiroth's immediately," says Genesis, fighting back a grunt. "I'm on my way."

"Okay, sir."

Genesis hangs up without another word and stands up.

"Then I'll go too," says Sephiroth, also standing. "There's no need to make him deliver his report twice."

"Augh, fine," says Angeal, quickly shoving another forkful of food into his mouth. "Let's go."

* * *

Angeal pities this boy if he's about to become the latest pawn in Sephiroth and Genesis’ one-sided rivalry, so he chooses not to have his excellent dinner in peace. He had not paid too much attention to Zack's rambles, but he might have said something about his Cloud suffering from a bad case of shyness. The poor thing would combust if caught between Sephiroth and Genesis' bickering. Although, the boy doesn't look particularly meek, nor does his neutral expression change when ShinRa's First Class SOLDIERs stride towards him. He does stop leaning by the door to Sephiroth's office and bows as they reach him, but no other sign of nervousness or deference.

Maybe he _is_ a Turk plant.

Sephiroth shepherds them into his office without further delay, and Strife pulls out a notebook after they've settled around his conference table.

"Situation report, Strife," says Sephiroth.

"Uh," says Strife, reaching for his notebook (it looks familiar, though it's not the scrap paper that ShinRa's HR personnel carries around - it's a notebook that Angeal has seen in Zack's apartment). "Commander Rhapsodos has the most messages, so I guess I should start there?"

"Of course," says Genesis, looking thoroughly satisfied.

"Okay," says Strife. He goes on to spend a good half an hour delivering inane messages to Genesis, most from arthouse managers, philanthropists, etc. from Midgar's upper classes. "They all said their thing was urgent, but none of it _sounded_ urgent, so I figured I'd keep it all for the end of the day."

And with that, Strife eliminates the goodwill he'd earned from Genesis.

"I'll be the judge of what's urgent," snaps Genesis.

"Ah, they wanted to arrange photoshoots and get your official statement on actors and costumes and the like," says Strife. "I wrote all their questions down."

"Yes, make sure to pass that along after we've handled ShinRa business," says Sephiroth.

"Good policy," Angeal cuts in, shooting Genesis a firm look. "From now on, go over in-house . . . concerns first."

"Okay, in that case," Strife flips over a couple of pages, "Doctor Hollander would like to reschedule your next physical, and Miss Scarlet requests a meeting regarding electronic magic barriers next week."

Angeal doesn't think anyone has ever called Scarlet ‘miss’. Where did Zack find someone so earnest?

"Arrange it," says Genesis.

"Next Tuesday at 14:00 hours?" asks Strife, then scratches out a note for himself when Genesis grunts his agreement. "Good, so Commander Hewley next?"

"Sure," says Angeal, after Sephiroth shrugs.

There's even less to do there - just requests from SOLDIER instructors for him to host guest seminars with the Third and Second classes, and another notice about a rescheduled physical with Hollander. Heidegger, who prefers to deal with Sephiroth and Genesis as little as possible, is also asking for assistance with some robot that's meant to stand against SOLDIERs. None of his contraptions have ever gotten past Angeal, so Sephiroth has never been involved personally with that project.

"And there are a few calls from vendors who want you to sponsor their supplements," says Strife, "but no more from ShinRa directly."

"We'll save that for later," says Angeal.

"Okay, so last is General Sephiroth," says Strife. "You got the least calls, but they were almost all from other ShinRa employees, and the most important one - I mean, I think it's the most important one, and technically, he said it could be for any SOLDIER if you're too busy - anyway, it's from Dr. Tuesti from Urban Development."

It's the most Strife has talked so far. What in Gaia had Tuesti asked for? His department rarely needs to work with SOLDIER, as ShinRa never starts construction anywhere until the property has been cleared of wildlife.

"Well, what did he want?" asks Sephiroth.

"Some machines broke down at construction sites closer to the slums, and he wants help moving heavy cargo around to help the engineers and construction crews," says Strife.

"It's not traditional work for SOLDIERs, but we might arrange something anyway," says Angeal.

"It'll be great for PR, if nothing else," says Genesis.

"Set up a meeting for Thursday at 13:00 hours," says Sephiroth, "and inform Lazard that I'll need the preliminary mission roster for next week by Thursday morning."

"Okay," says Strife. "Speaking of Director Lazard. . ."

Strife goes on to deliver messages and fine-tune Sephiroth's schedule, as well as jotting down answers to a multitude of questions that people had wanted to ask directly all day. It sounds like he took over a hundred calls and now has to follow-up on Gaia only knows how many insipid sponsorship questions.

"Maybe we should get you a lower priority PHS for non-ShinRa inquiries," Angeal muses out loud.

"That would be nice," says Strife, "but I already figured out how to mark and label their numbers in this one so I know who to ignore."

Sephiroth looks down at that, enough so that his bangs cover his face. He must be smiling.

"Anyway, there's just the non-ShinRa stuff left now," says Strife.

"Let me guess, not much for me," says Angeal. He isn't as pretty or as dramatic as his fellow Firsts. "Just tell anyone who wants me to sell protein powder and vitamins that I said to fuck off."

"Uh, exactly like that?" asks Strife, cheeks growing pink.

"No, try it in corporatese," says Angeal. "Commander Hewley is not interested in sponsorships at this time." He'll save the embarrassment for when some high-ranking ShinRa executive buys sufficient company shares and forces him to.

Angeal smiles as Strife dutifully writes down what he is expected to say. "And I'm guessing I should say something similar to the people who want to know about General Sephiroth's hair."

"I never want to speak to them," says Sephiroth.

Strife nods. "Then that leaves us with all the art and theater stuff for Commander Rhapsodos."

The next few days go off without a hitch. Incredibly. Strife continues to screen calls and organize the Firsts’ schedules without a peep of complaint from anyone important. Angeal's productivity skyrockets, and he knows he's the least popular, and thus, least interrupted of all the Firsts. By Friday evening, Sephiroth will hear no criticisms of his new liaison, the equivalent of blind worship coming from him. Lazard seems to think that Strife takes too long to deliver messages and is too independent about deciding what exactly counts as an emergency, but Sephiroth vehemently shoots down a suggestion to send Strife to Sensitivity Training.

"Loathe as I am to do it," says Genesis as he oils his sword the next morning, "I agree with Sephiroth. Strife is a little annoying, but it's not like he's out slapping secretaries' asses."

By ‘a little annoying’, Genesis means ‘has cut down on my distractions and daily attention’. With Strife at the helm of scheduling, Genesis' supposed complicated ordeal of selecting exclusive modeling sponsorships has turned into a five-minute discussion: Strife calmly asking where he wanted to schedule a shoot and for when.

"I agree with Sephiroth," says Angeal. "The boy is a treasure and must be protected at all costs."

"Ugh, did he actually _say_ that?"

"No!" Angeal chuckles. "Does it sound like Sephiroth would ever say such a thing?"

"No, but it doesn't sound like something you would pretend Sephiroth said, either."

"Honestly, it sounds more like something _you_ would say," Angeal snorts, imagining it.

"Strife still has to earn such loyalty from me, my old friend," says Genesis.

Maybe he never will, but in the meantime, Genesis will have to settle for Strife's undeniable competence. It's what Angeal plans to do.

* * *

 _“My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess,”_ starts Genesis, in the middle of his conversation with Sephiroth.

 _“Even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return,”_ finishes Sephiroth, though he really should avoid encouraging Genesis’ obsession.

Genesis sighs, looking at Sephiroth as though he is a dimwitted child. “How do you rob such beautiful verses of every last iota of passion?”

Sephiroth shrugs and looks out at Midgard’s nightly skyline, the sea of stars. The last time he felt anything remotely close to passion, he was in Wutai’s dense forests, being chased by a full battalion of ninja armed with enough poison and explosives to take out Heidegger’s entire arsenal. That’s not the type of thing to just say out loud, especially not to Genesis. The man is bitter enough that he never got a chance to go to Wutai and prove his heroism as it is. He would take it as bragging.

“You’re quiet,” says Genesis.

“Don’t you like that?”

“Not particularly,” says Genesis. “Would you like to spar, since your conversational skills leave much to be desired tonight?”

“Not particularly,” echoes Sephiroth. “Where’s Angeal?”

“Training simulation with a group of Thirds,” says Genesis. “Would I be here otherwise?”

“Guess not,” says Sephiroth. “Just go argue on S.O.N. or write another _Loveless_ essay. I’ll survive.”

“What is wrong with you lately?” asks Genesis. “I thought Strife’s diligence had you in a good mood.”

Sephiroth shrugs again, and does not look away from the window.

Genesis makes a frustrated noise and settles in Sephiroth’s living room with a laptop, either to work on one of those essays or to argue on S.O.N., as Sephiroth suggested. He does not leave Sephiroth to sulk in peace, and it’s not worth it to argue about it. Genesis is quiet when he’s at the computer. Totally quiet, very unlike his nature in any other circumstance. Sephiroth wishes he found the internet half as entertaining as Genesis does. He had once, right around the time Hojo had decided that he needed to integrate into society if he was ever to serve as a military leader. Every single aspect of his new environment had been a source of fascination and confusion back then, from the designs on t-shirts to the sight of people interacting with each other outside of sparring or lab tests.

He hasn’t had much time to think about this since Wutai, and isn’t sure that he had thought about it much before Wutai, either. Then Strife had entered their lives and demonstrated in forty-eight hours that Sephiroth’s life is empty. Without something that ShinRa needs destroyed, Sephiroth doesn’t have much of a purpose. Angeal trains the lower-ranked SOLDIERs, Genesis handles the PR, and Lazard handles the scheduling and mission assignments. All Sephiroth has to do is occasionally don that ridiculous uniform and look menacing for a photoshoot. Going by Strife’s schedule, he will not be needed for another thirty hours. Not really. He bets he could ask Strife to go to the meetings with Lazard and take notes for him. Lazard might even be grateful.

The next day goes the same as the last, more or less. Strife doesn’t put any phone calls through, but he calls him in the middle of the day to ask for clarification about a silly ShinRa regulation. He has the usual meeting with Lazard, but doesn’t bother to pay much attention, since Strife is writing down the dates and times for future meetings, all of which will be equally pointless. Had Genesis and Angeal noticed the problem before? Is it even supposed to be a problem? Is Sephiroth just defective?

He considers telling Strife to stop screening his calls, but the boy is doing an excellent job. Besides, Sephiroth knows that he’s bored now. Having to answer inane phone call after inane phone call might drive him to eco-terrorism just to get vengeance on ShinRa. No, what he needs is a hobby. ShinRa PR keeps telling him that he needs one, anyway. His first instinct is to call and ask them what his hobby should be. But he hates them. They'll focus group the whole thing and force him to attend tedious interviews, probably get an endorsement deal with some brand out of it. He’ll figure it out on his own.

He could just search for a new friend. Since Angeal and Genesis started their romantic relationship, he often feels that he's in the way. The third wheel, to use the popular vernacular, though he doesn't quite get the idiom. A third wheel provides stability, assuming a modicum of mechanical skills, so wouldn't it be a good thing?

An idea comes to him during lunch on the next day. He’s forced to go to one of ShinRa’s cafeterias because there will be a meeting with Tseng in less than an hour, likely about the worsening situation with mako-rabid monsters. Sephiroth will have no time to cook a proper meal, so he braves the public cafeterias where he will be openly ogled and photographed by people who are not as subtle with their PHSes as they fancy themselves. There, he runs into Strife.

Well, he _sees_ Strife, to be more accurate about it. The boy is walking around the cafeteria in a daze, looking through the food as though he can’t decide what to eat. He stands out, and not just because of his ludicrous hair. The SOLDIER uniform looks like a costume on someone so small, regardless of the hint of muscle in his arms. Strife looks younger than his seventeen years, especially from far away, when his steely gaze is not obvious. Now, he looks at the postcards by the stand with potato chips with naked interest, like he’s a rich man’s son visiting ShinRa headquarters and not a member of its elite military.

Sephiroth might have stared at him for longer, but then he notices Scarlet striding towards him, the fabric of her red suit gleaming with every step she takes. She towers over a foot above Strife in her high heels, which might not be a problem, since Strife is usually the shortest person in a room.

"Did you get lost up here, my sweet boy?" Scarlet is asking as Sephiroth reaches them.

"No, ma'am," says Strife, calmly. "I work here; SOLDIER Cadet Strife, at your service."

"Ah, the boy under the Firsts," says Scarlet, touching the pendant between her breasts as she looks down at Strife. "We spoke on the phone."

"Yes," says Strife, offering Sephiroth a salute.

“You have been wielding your position’s power with some glee, haven’t you?” asks Scarlet.

“Ma’am, I’ve just been answering the PHS and passing on messages,” says Strife.

“He has been doing well in the position,” says Sephiroth.

Scarlet looks his way with narrowed eyes, nods, then turns her gaze on Strife. "Of course. I will leave you both to your work."

Strife nods, and Scarlet saunters away, hips swaying with every clack of her high heels. She ignores Sephiroth, so he enjoys her company despite the absolute nightmares her monsters cause. The fact that she ignores him unfortunately makes her unsuitable for his next plan, hence why he turns to Strife.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” asks Sephiroth.

“Ah. . .” Strife looks around nervously, but Sephiroth will not be discouraged.

Angeal has warned him many times that most people are awkward when they’re getting to know each other in any capacity, and that it’s worse with him because he’s famous. Considering that Strife can look up at Scarlet in the eyes without flinching, then he should be more than capable of getting used to Sephiroth.

“It shouldn’t be long,” says Sephiroth. “The meeting with Tseng will start pretty soon.”

“Okay,” says Cloud. “I gotta be there too anyway.” He grabs one of the cards before following Sephiroth to the line.

The next step in making a new friend would be to make small talk, but Sephiroth doesn’t have anything to say. It doesn’t bother him to stand quietly as they wait for their turn to grab food, and Strife seems content with the silence. A good sign, or so Sephiroth decides. There are people looking, but they’ll get tired soon enough. They don’t seem to bother Strife either, or not enough to distract him from whatever he’s looking at on S.O.N.

“What are you looking at?”

Strife looks up, startled. “Chocobo racing, sir.” Then he looks back at the screen.

Chocobo racing. Not something Sephiroth cares about, but he can learn the basics. He learned all about Genesis’ poem, didn’t he?

The only palatable dish on the menu is grilled fish. Sephiroth tries not to openly show disdain or disgust as Strife gleefully fills his tray with all the pasta, cakes, and potatoes that he can fit, in addition to two servings of the fish. Most people are not health-conscious in their food choices, perhaps because their taste buds are not as sensitive as Sephiroth’s.

As a show of congeniality, Sephiroth lets Strife pick their table. He chooses one in the corner that is probably the worse tactical choice - they’re nowhere near the exits, and their backs are to the wall - but it’s fine. They’re at ShinRa Headquarters, and Sephiroth can handle anything that might come at them.

“Who is the card for?” asks Sephiroth.

Once again, Strife is startled by the question. “For my mother.”

Sephiroth nods and keeps eye contact.

As expected, Strife is compelled to fill the silence. “It has a picture of Odin, her favorite god,” he says, before taking a sip of his water.

“The father of all gods,” says Sephiroth. He learned that from one of Genesis’ poems.

“Right,” says Strife.

“Is your mother a religious woman?”

“Not exactly,” says Cloud, as he tries the pasta. Good. Eating in front of people is the first step in being comfortable around them. “What about your parents?”

“I never met them,” says Sephiroth, shrugging.

Strife’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t bombard Sephiroth with the usual awkward pity. “You don’t know your mother?” The question is oddly flat.

“I assume she was a peasant from Nibelheim,” says Sephiroth. If any of the people watching them can hear, he doesn’t care. “A small village in the Western continent where I was born.”

Strife’s bright blue eyes widen. “Do you remember anything about it?”

“No,” says Sephiroth. “I’m told I was moved to Midgard shortly after my birth.” This is usually the point when people start working out that Sephiroth is nothing but a lab rat. He hopes Strife can get past it.

Instead, Strife stares down at his pasta in profound concentration. “I don’t think your parents were from Nibelheim.”

What a curious thing to say. “Why not?”

“Because I would have known.”

“It’s hardly common knowledge, Strife. “ Sephiroth braces himself and takes a bite of his fish. The thing manages to be overly salted and tasteless at the same time.

“I’m from there, too,” says Strife.

“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten.” It had not seemed like an important detail the first time Sephiroth reviewed the boy’s file. “But you’re significantly younger than me.”

“Not by that much,” says Strife. “Besides, Nibelheim is a small place. If a local woman was pregnant, delivered the baby, and the baby disappeared? It would be the stuff of legends.”

“Even if she sold the baby?”

“ _Especially_ if she sold the baby,” says Strife.

Sephiroth indulges a small smile. Much to his surprise, Strife smiles back, if a little hesitantly.

“I suppose ShinRa could have lied,” says Sephiroth.

“Maybe,” mumbles Cloud. He shrugs, then goes back to his terrible lunch.

The rest of the meal is silent, but comfortably so. They make it to their meeting with Tseng with time to spare, Strife trailing Sephiroth quietly. A successful interlude, as far as Sephiroth is concerned.


	7. Phone Call Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud meets some SOLDIERs and calls and old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe 5:00 AM on Saturday isn't the best time to post fic updates, but this is how my brain works lol

It turns out that being a secretary is simpler than that TV show that Zack likes makes it out to be. There's a character in it that is the bane of the place because she can block everyone from contacting the regional manager, who the other characters assume will be able to solve all their problems (that turns out to be a myth in a later episode, a factoid that Cloud intends to remember). Cloud has been emulating her - or, at least, trying to. He adopts a blandly polite but firm tone whenever the PHS rings and sets down to organize the Firsts’ schedules. That sounds like secretarial work to him, so that's what he calls himself in his head.

He still tells people he's a ‘liaison’, though. It's a fancier word, and people respond to fancier things. Especially in Midgard.

It isn't too terrible a job. Cloud hates talking, but what he does now isn't _precisely_ talking. He repeats the same phrases over and over all day and writes down messages. Only the late-afternoon meeting, which sometimes is an early evening meeting, requires a bit of talking, but even then. The Firsts talk to each other, requiring Cloud's input only when they need their schedules clarified. Watching them interact is. . . It's an experience, alright.

Commander Rhapsodos is silly. There's just no other word for it. He waxes poetry at General Sephiroth (literally, sometimes) and seems fixated on Gaialanad's Epic Poem. That Midgardian bastardization of it, anyway. He seems unhappy with Cloud, for some reason, even though Cloud has been trying very hard to keep detailed accounts for every single one of his calls. And he gets the most calls. In just a handful of days, Cloud has become an expert transcriptionist all thanks to verbose theater folk. Still, Commander Rhapsodos still occasionally looks like he smelled something bad when he looks at Cloud.

Oh, well. Cloud is used to people hating him. Commander Rhapsodos isn't picking on him so far, so Cloud doesn't mind his constipated looks.

Commander Hewley is the nicest, as is to be expected from a person Zack admires. He's tried from the beginning to think of ways to make Cloud's life a little easier - like getting him a second PHS for all the promotional stuff. He even asked Cloud if he needed help settling into the new position earlier in the week. Without thinking, Cloud had said that there isn't much to settle into. But Commander Hewley had slapped his shoulder lightly, so no harm there. Cloud bets other bosses might be mad at the implication that he isn’t doing as much work as he could be.

General Sephiroth is . . . He is not what Cloud expected, nothing like the mythical creature on ShinRa posters that looks like what Commander Rhapsodos so desperately wants to be. Except that's not what Cloud expected Sephiroth to be, either.

Currently, Cloud's main problem is that Sephiroth seems to have forgotten his request to continue training. That's the charitable assumption, anyway. Maybe Sephiroth doesn't care about Cloud's hopeless quest to become a SOLDIER, and expects that Cloud will be too meek to ever bring it up again. Joke's on him. Cloud is meek, but he's also stubborn as a feral chocobo. Next meeting, he intends to ask about his training again, even if he has to do it in front of Rhapsodos and Hewley. If he hadn’t been so dumbfounded when Sephiroth asked to have lunch with him, he would have brought it up then. (Cloud isn’t going to dwell on having lunch with Sephiroth, or what they talked about, or why he’s so certain that Sephiroth’s parents _aren’t_ from Nibelheim. The whole thing gives him a headache.)

"General, sir," he says the next day, after Sephiroth asks if there's anything else at the end of Cloud's daily report. "Just. . . about my training?"

"Your training?" asks Hewley, leaning forward.

"Yeah," says Cloud. "Can I go back to classes with Lt. Armstrong?"

"You've stopped going?" asks Hewley.

"Well, the calls keep coming," says Cloud, looking at his lap. "I'd have to turn off the PHSes to go to class."

"Why not just keep them on?" asks Rhapsodos in a bored tone.

"Lt. Armstrong does not tolerate interruptions," says Sephiroth.

"He will make an exception for you if ordered to," dismisses Rhapsodos.

True, but Cloud doesn't want to show up to training to give orders to the instructors, especially when the overwhelming majority of calls he answers are bullshit. So far, no one has called him with a single emergency.

"I think." Cloud pauses and steels himself. "If possible, I would like not to interrupt Lt. Armstrong."

"It's true that exceptions often cause problems in the classroom," says Hewley. Bless him for getting it.

"But sometimes they're necessary," says Rhapsodos. "You can turn off the PHS for business outside of ShinRa if you like, as those calls can be safely ignored."

"Thank you," says Cloud, bowing. "But also, the rest of the calls?"

"What about them?" asks Rhapsodos, mildly.

"Could I ignore them too?" Cloud refuses to back down. "I would rather not disrespect Lt. Armstrong."

"That won't be necessary," interrupts Sephiroth. "As I said at the beginning of the week, I will be handling your training from now on."

He had actually said he'd think on it, but Cloud's not about to quibble about that detail as long as Sephiroth advocates for his training. For some reason.

"Handle it how?" asks Cloud, just to make sure he's interpreting that statement correctly.

"Come to the SOLDIER dojo tomorrow at 14:00, and we can spar," says Sephiroth.

"What?" says Rhapsodos, while Cloud stares at Sephiroth, probably with his mouth hanging open like some kind of moron.

"So I can see how much training he needs," Sephiroth tells Rhapsodos.

"What?" repeats Rhapsodos.

"I just _said_ I would handle Strife's training." Thankfully, Sephiroth's focusing entirely on Rhapsodos as he says it, so he misses Cloud's face draining of color because his heart instantly stops beating at such a horrible idea.

"Seph," says Hewley, slowly.

Who the fuck is _Seph_?

"Have you ever trained anyone?" demands Rhapsodos.

"How difficult could it be?"

"Oh, boy," says Hewley. "Listen Seph, I'm sure Strife appreciates your. . . uh, enthusiasm. But perhaps he would benefit from a more experienced instructor."

"And 'a more experienced instructor', in this case, would be literally anyone else in SOLDIER," says Rhapsodos.

Sephiroth's gaze slides back and forth from Hewley to Rhapsodos, white eyebrows slightly furrowed. Then, he turns on Cloud. "You're the one who needs training. Is the idea of sparring with me really that horrifying?"

Cloud is definitely about to throw up.

"You don't have to scare the kid," says Hewley.

"I'm not scared," Cloud bursts out. "I can spar with him." _I can beat him._ Thank Odin that Cloud doesn't say something that unbearably stupid out loud.

"Then, it's settled," says Sephiroth, nodding at Cloud approvingly. "Now, is there anything else that needs to be addressed?"

Cloud says no and flees the office as quickly as possible without making it obvious that he's nauseous. They can argue about whatever had just happened privately while Cloud has a meltdown in Zack's apartment. All he wanted was to return to his classes, and now he has to spar with Sephiroth. _Sephiroth_. And Commander Hewley had given him an out, too, and like an asshole, he ran his mouth instead of taking it. Zack isn't going to believe it if Cloud survives long enough to see him again.

Why wouldn't he survive? This will undoubtedly be humiliating, but it's not like Sephiroth will _hurt_ him. Not intentionally, anyway.

There's always unintentionally, though.

Cloud makes a dumb, anguished noise and pulls out one of the PHSes. He has Zack's number half-dialed before he comes to his senses. Zack can't get him out of this ridiculous mess, and even if he could, Cloud isn't going to bother him. He can take care of himself. It's only a spar, and it will be fine. Completely fine. Better than fine. It'll be another great story to share with Claudia.

He gets through the next day in a haze, all the while being shorter than usual with the callers because his stomach is churning. Half an hour before it's time to meet Sephiroth, he goes through all the stretching exercises he can manage in his cramped office, a futile attempt to prepare for his upcoming. . . whatever it's going to be. "Spar" seems an inadequate word for what's about to transpire.

Regardless, Cloud is no coward. Not even running into actual SOLDIERs in their dojo deters him.

"Who're you?" A tall blond one demands, though Cloud tries to be as unobtrusive as possible when he enters.

Another blond soldier with a ridiculous mullet (and Cloud rarely dares to judge anyone's hair as ridiculous, considering the mess resting atop his own head) peers at him. "This is Fair's little cadet boyfriend."

"I'm not!" protests Cloud, blushing furiously.

"Friend, don't let that asshole Fair treat you like a side piece," says the mulleted blond. "You have to love yourself, or no one will love you."

"Roche, stop asking S.O.N. for relationship advice," yells a broad-shoulder SOLDIER by the squat rack. It's pretty far off, so SOLDIER-enhanced hearing must be at play, or so Cloud guesses.

"But what are you doing here?" the first blond asks Cloud.

"Because. . . General Sephiroth said to meet him here," says Cloud, glaring down at the floor.

He wants to defend Zack, defend himself, but it's harder to stand up to literal super soldiers.

"Why?" asks a brunette SOLDIER.

Cloud shrugs. "I'm his liaison. For the Firsts." Odin, but that sounds dumb. He should just say secretary.

"Well, whatever," says the blond without the mullet. "Just stay out of our way."

Cloud intends to do as much. He goes off to the side, refusing to bow or salute since they're assholes making up stories about Zack, who would never take advantage of anyone, much less Cloud. People are just perverts for no reason. Zack could have anyone, so why would he be nice to Cloud just to get into his pants? He's had some variations of that argument with other cadets, and he's convinced exactly zero people, so he just looks around to distract himself.

The SOLDIER's gym is pretty amazing, equipped with reinforced weights and weapons for enhanced men. The SOLDIER who reprimanded Roche is deadlifting five hundred kilos without breaking a sweat. There are some of Heidegger's robots on the side, but according to Zack, they pretty much suck. No one uses them. The Simulation Unit is more popular, though Zack says it's more of an awesome, VR videogame than a true battle. Cloud would totally try it, but he wouldn't dare to ask for permission. Zack had offered to show it to him, but that had been before the motorcycle fiasco, and after, he'd just been really busy.

Sephiroth arrives in the middle of Cloud's usual Zack-related thoughts, interrupting the gym's flow. The other SOLDIERs stop what they're doing to salute him, but none go over to talk to him. Odd, since even Cloud gets some type of positive attention when he goes to the cadet's gym. He doesn't have time to ponder about it, because Sephiroth spots him right away and starts walking towards him, prompting Cloud to consider that maybe _he_ should be getting up to meet his CO, not the other way around. No matter how wobbly his legs might feel, or how much he might be praying for some kind of emergency.

Just barely, Cloud manages to get up before Sephiroth quite reaches him. He's preemptively blushing, but at least he manages a salute. People are watching them; Cloud just knows.

"Strife," says Sephiroth, nodding.

"Sir."

"Shall we begin?" asks Sephiroth.

"Okay," says Cloud.

Then they just stare at each other. Sephiroth is in a regular SOLDIER uniform and has his hair in a long fishtail braid, bangs out of his face and everything, though a handful of stubborn grey strands have escaped to frame Sephiroth's face. He slips them behind his ear, a perfectly mundane action that gives Cloud vertigo, as though it's weird that Sephiroth is bothered by hair getting in front of his eyes. Who isn't?

"So, what do you want to do?" Sephiroth asks.

Cloud realizes that he's been staring up stupidly. "Uh." He swallows. "Well, Lt. Armstrong decides what we do during training."

"Right," says Sephiroth, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "Let's just start with a simple spar to gauge your skill."

In front of the other SOLDIERs. Great. Amazing. The humiliation might curdle Cloud's blood. At least Sephiroth doesn't whip out Masamune, so that's something.

Cloud goes for the broadsword, though he knows he looks very silly doing it with his twiggy arms. It doesn't matter. Sephiroth will annihilate him regardless of the weight of his sword. There are two SOLDIERs already sword training, but Sephiroth waves them away without explanation, and Cloud will fucking die. No one is even pretending not to stare. He bows to Sephiroth with wobbly legs.

"Come," says Sephiroth.

Cloud springs to life.

Sephiroth dodges the first strike, of course, then sweeps upwards with his katana.

Cloud jumps back, almost stumbles, but whatever. He rolls, bringing up his sword to block a blow that never comes. Without thinking, he strikes upward. Sephiroth blocks, with such force that Cloud feels it all the way to his shoulder. He knows what's coming and how much it will hurt. He shifts the broadsword to try and block the next strike. It never comes either.

Cloud risks making eye contact. Mako-green slitted eyes are looking down at him curiously.

"Uh," says Cloud.

"How many of my exhibition matches have you watched?" asks Sephiroth.

"What?"

"You're not very fast," says Sephiroth, tilting his head, "but you know where I would strike if we were in a real battle."

Cloud straightens up and takes a shaky step backwards. That's not it. He knows what Sephiroth will do next, but not because of some silly exhibition matches.

"Don't worry; I won't counterattack," says Sephiroth. "Just try to get through my defenses."

Cloud nods, grateful that he doesn't have to explain himself.

He can't stop instinctively blocking whenever he _thinks_ Sephiroth will attack. It's muscle memory, same as the motions of brushing his teeth, but terrifying. Lt. Armstrong would yell at him for being unable to follow simple instructions, but Sephiroth says nothing about it. Occasionally, he'll correct Cloud's stance, kicks his legs out a bit or orders him to straighten his back. Everything else falls to the background. Hopeless as it is, Cloud can't stop trying to _hit_ him. Not to impress him; he just _has_ to.

Soon enough, his arm gets tired. The broadsword is too heavy for him to begin with. His strikes grow sloppier, and finally, he switches to the other arm. It helps him slash and thrust a little faster, but his aim is even worse. Cloud should yield. He has to wipe sweat off his eyes; Sephiroth would have already killed him in a real fight. It's not in him to give up, though. He keeps trying as he heaves for breath. As long as he's conscious, he'll keep trying.

On his next strike, Sephiroth side-steps. Cloud's too tired to correct course, so he stumbles forward, almost falling. He puts his free hand over his knee, eyes skirting to where Sephiroth is watching.

Suddenly, he heaves, and vomits bile.

"Strife?" Sephiroth sounds worried.

Cloud finally drops the broadsword. He tries to laugh as he gasps.

"Are you okay?" asks Sephiroth.

"I'm good," says Cloud. Then he giggles and falls back to sit on his ass. He is very much not _good_.

Sephiroth touches his shoulder.

Cloud flinches, all but crawls away.

"I'm sorry," says Sephiroth.

What?

"What?" asks Cloud, looking up at Sephiroth.

"I'm often unable to gauge others' limits," says Sephiroth.

"What?" repeats Cloud, rubbing his forehead with the back of his forearm.

"I should have ended the sparring session sooner," says Sephiroth.

"No, I. . ." Cloud grunts. "It was my fault; I should have yielded a while ago. I just. . . I don't know."

"I'll be more careful next time," says Sephiroth.

A part of Cloud recoils at the thought of a next time. But that isn't rational. Sephiroth hasn't hurt him, and there's no reason why he would.

"Okay," says Cloud. He takes Sephiroth's offered hand, too tired to be embarrassed, and lets Sephiroth haul him to his feet. "Thank you."

Odin, he really did throw up. Maybe he can get paper towels or something so the janitors don't have to deal with it. He looks around, and then almost faints from embarrassment. The SOLDIERs are all staring at him intently.

Was Cloud really that bad? He needs to clean up after himself and flee the situation before, Odin forbid, someone tries to talk to him.

The entire encounter weighs on his mind all the way back to Zack’s apartment. He doesn't know what he expected Sephiroth to be. Just not a tall, quiet man who wears a standard SOLDIER uniform rather than that infamous leather get-up, and keeps his famous hair in braids and buns most of the time. It does make sense, though. Cloud would tie up his own shitty hair if it ever got that long, though it mercifully doesn’t. He hacks away the most annoying spikes if they get in front of his eyes, and the rest, he leaves alone because they know not to obstruct his vision.

Not that General Sephiroth's hair is shitty. Just. . . Cloud must have imagined that it would elegantly fall over his face, just to be ignored by a smirking Silver General. But he's ever seen Sephiroth smirk, in real life or in posters. The posters have him looking stoic or expressionless. In real life, he looks bored most of the time.

The point is. . . Cloud forgets the point. It's his day off, so he's turned off both PHSes, as he learned from the TV show. The problem is, now he's bored. It's too early to try and call Claudia, and Zack is still not back from his mission. Cloud already flipped through the TV channels and found nothing to hold his attention. He finished his morning body exercises a while ago.

Normally, Cloud would go to the Cadet’s lounge, or head out to walk the city with Kunsel. Neither has enough money to get far or buy anything, but the company and sightseeing are nice. They've even toyed with the idea of going below the plate, but Zack talked them out of it. They don't like ShinRa down there, apparently, but Kunsel has been "researching" and is pretty convinced that they don't have to wait for Zack to escort them there. Cloud has to admit that he's curious.

But he has been avoiding all other SOLDIER cadets since the tournament fiasco. Hell, he's been avoiding _thinking_ about the whole thing; holed up in Zack's living room as he is, taking advantage of meal and grocery delivery services that are free for the SOLDIERs (Cloud frets about taking advantage of such a service even though he isn't a SOLDIER, but not enough to stop doing it). The calls keep coming at an alarming pace, leaving Cloud with barely enough time to keep his body limber. He hasn't touched a weapon since the tournament, except for the spars with Sephiroth, which remain so bizarre that Cloud can barely comprehend that they're not a fever dream. Cloud’s due for another SOLDIER entrance exam in a few months, and the combat section should be okay now. Maybe.

If he could trust people to mind their own business, he would just head to the Cadet lounge to get it over with. At most, his bullies will make snide comments or try to throw his food on the floor or something; nothing that would get them in serious trouble. The real risk would be the deserted corridors in the barracks, where they could gang up on Cloud and do serious damage with relative impunity.

After a few minutes of staring at the digital clock on Zack's kitchen counter, Cloud is weighing the risks.

He knows the barracks like the back of his hands. It's not like he hasn't been a target of bullying in the past (Cloud guesses he just has that kind of face), and he's grown accustomed to reading people's moods and modifying his stealth levels accordingly. Saturday mornings are a low threat in general, because most cadets get shitfaced Friday evening and wake up mid-afternoon on Saturdays. In other words, if Cloud has any plans to reintegrate into the barracks life, now would be the time. Yes, he should go out.

Only the fear that something will happen and he won't manage to call Claudia later in the afternoon makes him hesitate. He compromises by making an early call to Nibelheim. Someone picks up after two rings. "Nibelheim Store," says Janwha, the old man who owns the place.

"Hi, it's Cloud. Cloud Strife."

"Yeah, who else has that name?" Janwha had never liked Cloud, had he?

"No one else, sir," says Cloud.

"Your ma isn't here."

"I didn't think she would be," says Cloud. "I'm only calling in case I don't get a chance to do it later."

"But she's not here," repeats Janwha.

"Yes, I know," says Cloud. "I'd like to leave a message that I'm okay, in case I can't call later."

"That'll cost you."

"Yes, that's," Cloud pauses, "fine. Just please let her know that I have to work this morning, and if it runs late, I might miss our call."

"Two hundred gil on the Strife tab," says Janwha.

Cloud needs to get his ma out of that miserable, miserly, frozen hellhole. "Okay, I'll send the money ASAP."

"Fine," says Janwha, managing to sound bitter despite milking him out of so much money. Fucker will definitely demand more later.

Cloud intends to hang up immediately, but he hears a feminine voice in the background.

"Is that Cloud? It is, isn't it? Let me talk to him."

"What business do you have with that rat?" hisses Janwha.

Cloud frowns, intending to slam down the PHS and hopefully cost Janwha some money, but the woman's voice comes through loud and clear. "Cloud?"

"Yeah, who's this?"

"It's Tifa! I can't believe you forgot so soon."

"Oh." Cloud covers his face to hide a blush before he remembers he's alone in the apartment. "I didn't forget you, just didn't recognize your voice."

"Uh, you sound different too," says Tifa. "How is Midgard?"

"It's. . . really big," says Cloud, because he is an idiot. "I mean, there are a lot of lights and tall. Buildings." Odin have mercy on him.

"Oh," says Tifa. "I got your letters."

"Oh, sorry if it's too much," says Cloud. "I just didn't know if you'd gotten them or not, but I can stop. I bet they're boring anyway, like-"

"-No, don't stop!" Tifa practically yells. "I mean, they're not boring, so you don't have to stop if you don't want to."

"Okay," says Cloud. "Just, I didn't get a reply, so I wasn't sure if I should keep bothering you."

"Oh, I've written back," says Tifa, "but we've had a blizzard for weeks and the couriers are not picking up much of anything. The shipment with my response got stuck here."

"Ma hasn't said." Probably trying to keep Cloud from worrying.

"The town's mostly okay for now," Tifa reassures him. "Your ma more than most, since she's such a good hunter."

"Okay," says Cloud. "Thanks for telling me." Then he fishes for something to say that doesn't sound stupid. And fails. "How's Master Zangan?"

"Who?"

"Your martial arts trainer," says Cloud, automatically.

"Cloud, what?" says Tifa. "My dad would never let me practice martial arts; you know how much he worries."

Cloud blinks. He bites his lips. That's not true. Tifa is the best martial artist he knows, Master Zangan's best pupil, and the one who taught him to fend for himself without a sword even when facing powerful enemies like. . . like. What is he thinking? He doesn't have powerful enemies, just spiteful bullies that can be outsmarted more often than not.

"Okay, sorry," says Cloud. What the fuck? He rarely got a chance to ever _talk_ to Tifa without paying for it later. "I have to get to work, like I was telling Janwha."

"Oh, alright. But keep writing, okay?"

"Okay," says Cloud. "Bye."

Cloud hangs up the phone, hand shaking. The certainty about Master Zangan and Tifa's martial arts tutelage shining in his mind - strong, like knowing that the sky is blue on sunny days. He remembers Tifa, hair down to her waist and hands firm as she corrects his stance, then knocking him on his back and straddling his hips playfully before bending down to kiss him. On the mouth. Cloud blushes, as though she can sense his. . . fantasy? All the way from Nibelheim. Stupid. It's not even the first time he’s fantasized about her and nothing to be ashamed of. Fantasies are harmless as long as he keeps them to himself.

(It isn't a fantasy, though. It's a memory that he has to fight off, because it makes him crazy. Tifa's hair isn't even that long, and her breasts certainly not that big).

He sits on Zack's couch, confused and afraid, for what feels like hours. The digital clock tells him that it's barely been ten minutes. The anxiety from his bizarre conversation with Tifa is fading; all he has to do is never mention Master Zangan to her again. He could just not talk to her again. Next time, he’ll talk about things that are actually happening, like his new job with the First Class SOLDIERs, his best friend Zack, Kunsel’s hilarious conspiracy theories, and how he trains directly with General Sephiroth. It hits Cloud like an unexpected brick: for the last few days, he has been living his dream. There’s no reason to walk around like his life is crumbling.

There’s no reason to hide out in Zack’s apartment, either. He has nothing to hide, and the longer he does so, the longer he validates all the shitty rumors about him. Better to head to the Cadet's lounge.


	8. Friends in the Time of Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud braves the cafeteria and Zack returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my new computer delivered, and one of my cats fucked up the keyboard within 30 minutes so I had to send it back for a replacement😖
> 
> So another update done through the phone.
> 
> Thanks to my friend Ro for making this somewhat legible!

As expected, the Cadet's lounge is deserted. The cashier at the cafeteria recognizes Cloud, and seems relieved to see that he's well. He has to reassure her that he had not been injured while hiding his shock that she'd noticed him at all.

"How could I forget your haircut?" she demands, flicking his longest and must stubborn hair spike.

"Right," says Cloud, flushing. He should not take it personally. Judging by her smile and haircut (a mohawk dyed with yellow and red so it looks like flames), she's one of the people who finds his hair 'cool'. "Your hair is nice too."

She beams, and Cloud relaxes a little. No one in Nibelheim ever complimented him about his stupid hair - in fact, it been a source of near constant torment - but Midgard is a strange place. People not only compliment him, but ask him what hair products and dye he uses, and some have accused him of keeping his hair care routine a secret.

"Glad to see you back, man," says the cashier. "You're one of the nicer cadets, and nice to look at too."

Cloud feels his cheeks burning pink. "Um, thanks?"

"You like the white chocolate protein bars, right?" she asks, beaming. "We just got a shipment."

Now Cloud feels guilty. For some reason, the girl seems to genuinely like him, but he doesn't know her name, even though she works at the lounge on a near daily basis. He searches for something friendly to say, but everything that comes to mind sounds stupid, so he takes his food and heads to his preferred corner. He'll have to load up on protein bars and other non-perishables after his meal, regardless of how crummy and unsatisfying they are in the long run. Zack might get free delivery, but he doesn't get free food altogether, and Cloud has to scrounge up an extra two hundred gil to send to home this week. He's regretting the impromptu call to Nibelheim more with every passing second.

The double doors to the lounge slide open while he's ordering as much beef jerky and protein bar as he can carry. He relaxes, but only slightly, when he makes eye contact with Kunsel. Judging by the shocked air about him, he might have missed Cloud's note. Cloud hesitates, then waves at him.

"Dude," Kunsel hisses, rushing to him and looking as mad as the cartoon red chocobo printed on his t-shirt. " _Dude._ "

"It's fine," says Cloud, discreetly glancing towards the cashier. There's no one else around, so she's clearly listening. "I left you a note."

"I didn't get a fucking note!" Kunsel waves his hands around. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I'm fine, just help me pack up," says Cloud. Knowing Kunsel and his love for gossip, this conversation will take hours.

Paying and packing up the junk food is extremely awkward with Kunsel hovering around, shooting him worried and irritated looks the entire time. Honestly, Cloud doesn't know why he didn't just stay in Zack's apartment flipping through TV channels.

"We thought they took you to the labs," Kunsel says, the moment they're out of the lounge.

Cloud's stomach turns. "I told you I left a note," he says. Another cadet must have gotten it first. "I've been at Zack's; let's go."

He probably ought to feel bad about inviting Kunsel along to a place that isn't his, but he's been there for an entire week. Instinctively, he's starting to think of it as home. The living room, kitchen, and bathroom anyway. He still doesn't dare go into Zack's bedroom.

"Cloud, how did you win that tournament?" asks Kunsel, while they're still walking down ShinRa's metallic grey hallways.

"I don't know," says Cloud.

Kunsel makes an incredulous noise and narrows his dark eyes.

"Honestly, I have no freaking idea," insists Cloud.

"Why did you hide how strong you are?"

"I didn't," says Cloud.

"Where have you been all week?"

"I told you-" The sound of footsteps, from several people, stops Cloud in his tracks. His luck is running out, and when he's almost out of the barracks too. Johnson turns the corner - followed by his crew, no less - and his expression combusts with bitterness when he sees Cloud.

"Fucking typical," mutters Cloud, gripping his groceries.

"Strife," spits Johnson.

"Yeah?" Cloud isn't even mad. At least he can get the whole stupid shitshow done with.

"Now, let's not get excited," says Kunsel, as the other cadets start spreading out to block the wide hallway.

"Shut the fuck up, Kunsel," says Johnson, without looking at him.

"What are you even gonna do?" asks Cloud. He expected to be scared when the time came to face the other cadets, but now that it's happening, he's just vaguely aggravated at the entire stupid situation.

"I'm going to smash your pretty little face in," says Kunsel, making a fist with his right hand and pushing it against the palm of his left.

"You really think I'm pretty?" says Cloud.

"Dude!" yells Kunsel. "Don't make it worse!"

"Get the fuck out of here, Kunsel," says Johnson.

Cloud puts his groceries down on the floor, by the corner and close to the wall. He really needs to save up two hundred gil this week.

One of Johnson's friends comes at him, and Kunsel says something that Cloud can't make out. He feels like he's in a weird, detached fog. Mechanically, he elbows the guy in the chin and kicks him right into Jonhson as he straightens up. Someone gasps while Johnson and the other guy fall to the floor.

"Fuck, you really were in the labs all week," says Kunsel.

"I told you, I was at Zack's!" Cloud hisses.

Johnson curses from the floor, scrambling to his feet while his cronies look at Cloud nervously. Maybe bringing up Zack right now isn’t an intelligent move. Or maybe it's the _most_ intelligent move.

"Grab my shit and wait for me outside," Cloud tells Kunsel. "I'm gonna handle this."

"Johan!" cries one of the cronies.

Cloud looks down. He didn't kick the guy that hard -- something flickers in the corner of his eye, drawing his gaze back to Johnson.

Black smoke pours out of Johnson's nostrils and mouth. Jonhson starts gagging, hands going to his neck to scratch at his skin.

"Are you seeing that?" Cloud asks, grabbing the sleeve of Kunsel's shirt.

"What the fuck?" breathes Kunsel, as Johnson hacks out some black smog . . . stuff. With bits of purplish, glowing. . . bits?

Yes, then. Cloud isn't going crazy.

He bends down to grab his groceries while keeping an eye on Johnson. "Come on," he says to Kunsel while Johnson swipes at his face, croaking as though someone - or something - is choking him. His friends are gathered around, asking him what's wrong. The guy Cloud elbowed and kicked is curled up on his side, holding his stomach. Just how hard did Cloud hit him?

Well, he's not going to make it better by sticking around. He suspects that the black smog around Johnson's throat and mouth may have something to do with him, not that he plans to _tell_ anyone that. The cadets let Cloud and Kunsel go around them, and Kunsel doesn't argue when Cloud starts jogging out of the building.

"Should we call the infirmary?" asks Kunsel.

"Let them decide," says Cloud, looking back at the barracks building, covering his eyes to block the sunlight.

"What if they can't?" demands Kunsel.

"Only Jonhson looked - sick," says Cloud. "His buddies will make the call."

"Cloud!" yells Kunsel.

A cadet passing by glances their way.

"I wouldn't want anyone to call if it was me," says Cloud.

"Why the hell not?" yells Kunsel.

"I. . ." Cloud doesn't want to _remember_ why. He puts a hand over his stomach, suddenly nauseous.

"Cloud?"

"Let's go back to Zack's, okay? I'll explain there."

"Okay.” Kunsel nods, but his features are screwed up with obvious uncertainty.

Great. Amazing. What exactly is Cloud supposed to tell him?

* * *

Zack returns from the mission from hell with a shoulder that must have healed wrong or something. The last Grand Horn he fought, over at some teeny town in the Northern Continent that did little but house fishermen on their way back from whaling season, pierced his deltoid as it went down. The mako in Zack's veins started sealing the injury before Zack managed to get the monster off, and now his whole arm is all fucked up. He has decent shoulder mobility, but it hurts, and he bets it'd be a weakness in a fight. If it doesn't sort itself out after a couple of days, he'll have to submit to some poking and prodding from the Science Department. A perfect end to the shittiest mission of his life.

He's so exhausted that he barely remembers the details of Cloud's call in the beginning of his mission. He'd said something about staying in Zack's apartment, but he hadn't specified why or for how long. Zack could stop by the SOLDIER cadet barracks, but again. He feels like absolute shit. Another option is to call Cloud's CO directly (Lt. Armstrong likes him well enough, and he has some honorary authority over the cadets as a Second Class SOLDIER), but then he'd have to explain why he's asking for Cloud. Lt. Armstrong might ask Cloud why a SOLDIER is asking about him no matter what bullshit excuse Zack might come up with, and that would embarrass him.

He could just go look for Cloud himself, but then he'd have to figure out what the problem had been while pretending to be fine. For once, Zack plans to indulge some selfishness and allow himself a few hours to at least sleep in his own bed.

What he doesn't expect is to hear Cloud's voice in his hallway, coming from his own apartment.

"I swear I didn't cheat." Cloud is pleading with someone, but physically at least, he sounds okay. "Why would I cheat? I thought Carmichael was sick and Johnson hungover or something, and then I _wanted_ to just lose on purpose, but I didn't know how to make it, like. . . not obvious!"

"What do you mean?"

Kunsel.

Zack steps closer, intent on getting a clearer picture of what was happening. In the entire year he'd known Cloud - and Kunsel - he'd never seen them seriously argue about anything. Gentle ribbing? Yes. Outright fighting? They're both too amicable and humble for that.

"Everyone was moving so slow," complains Cloud. "Everyone would've been able to tell I was faking, especially after Johnson, and that would've been worse. Lt. Armstrong's head would've exploded with the disrespect and dishonor of it all. How is he, by the way?"

Why would Cloud not know how his CO is? Had something happened to the man?

"He's Lt. Armstrong," says Kunsel. "Same as always."

So something had happened to Cloud, then.

"So you've really been answering Sephiroth's phone calls all week?"

What?

"And Hewley and Rhapsodos', too," says Cloud.

What the fuck?

"You realize that sounds way crazier than you getting fired and then kidnapped to the labs, right?" says Kunsel.

"But it's true," says Cloud. "It's boring, actually. I haven't even been training, except for. . . um."

“Um?” says Kunsel. “Except is doing a lot fucking work in that sentence. They did something to you in the labs, didn’t they? I was right.”

“Now is not the time for your crazy theories!”

"If they didn’t do anything to you, then why did you hide out here all week?"

"Because I was sure I was gonna get jumped," says Cloud. "And it turns out I was right, so."

That finally prompts Zack to open his door. He glances over at Kunsel briefly before fixing his attention on Cloud to make sure that he's okay. After the bizarre conversation he just overheard, he's startled by the usual spiky blond hair and wide blue eyes.

"Zack," says Cloud, in his usual, hesitant tone, like he can't believe Zack is real. Smiling, Zack slips the Buster Sword off its magnet harness and puts it in his coat closet.

It'd been flattering at first, to have someone so cute and suspicious in awe of him, but then Zack had realized that Cloud wasn't necessarily amazed _by_ him, but by the fact that Zack paid any attention to him in the first place.

"Sorry, I didn't know you'd be coming back today," says Cloud. "I'm going back to the barracks anyway. Sorry to bother you."

Not after what Zack just heard. "Someone attacked you?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," says Kunsel. "Little Cloud magically turned into a badass while you were gone."

"I _didn't_ ," hisses Cloud, and any other time, Zack would smile at how adorable he looks when he gets mad.

"Alright, I need you guys to calm down and explain, in detail, what the hell is going on," says Zack. Fuck, he sounds like someone's dad.

The subsequent explanation is disjointed and stilted. They can't quite explain how a mock tournament is connected to the Firsts needing a secretary, or what that has to do with Cloud's sudden prowess in martial arts. Cloud can't explain what prompted him to hide in Zack's apartment for the entire week (fear of assault isn't what did it; Cloud's not the type to go to such lengths to accommodate bullies). To say nothing of the hysterical story about that other cadet spewing - literally spewing - black smog everywhere.

"I have to inform the infirmary about that," says Zack, looking at Cloud.

Cloud frowns and looks away. He knows better than to argue. Zack has a duty to watch out for SOLDIER cadets, even if it might embarrass Cloud. Including the ones who are dicks.

"You must be tired, Zack," says Cloud. "Sorry to drag you into this."

Zack pats his shoulder. "I'd have heard of it eventually." He can't pretend that he hadn't been wishing for a shower and a nap.

"We were on our way out anyway," says Kunsel.

"Yeah," agrees Cloud.

Not if the bag of junk food on Zack's kitchen counter is anything to go by. "Today's when you call your ma," says Zack.

"I already called Nibelheim earlier today," says Cloud. "Kunsel and I are going to Sector 8 to watch. . . something."

"The new _Loveless_ play," says Kunsel, pointing at the logo on his white t-shirt. "It's like regular _Loveless_ , but the actors are all dressed like cats. And of course, the angry red chocobo." The lady in a cat costume posed suggestively at the red chocobo's feet makes slightly more sense now.

"Okay," says Zack, rolling his injured shoulder. "But come back here tonight, Cloud."

"There's no need for that," says Cloud. "You've got to rest, and besides, I have work tomorrow."

"On Sunday?" asks Zack.

"Yeah," says Cloud. "I only get Saturdays off now."

"Dude!" says Kunsel.

Zack's head is pounding. "All the more reason for you to come back tonight," he tells Cloud. "We gotta talk."

Cloud tries to argue, but Kunsel gets them out of the apartment with some complaints about how they're going to be late for that play that Zack is sure they made up on the spot. Well, a _Loveless_ cat play sounds plausible, but there's no way they had been planning to go see it. Zack looks around after they're out the door, searching for evidence that Cloud had really been holed up in his apartment all week. There's nothing besides the bags of junk food on the counter; Cloud is a remarkably clean guest. Or he'd been working most of the time.

Yawning, Zack goes to his phone and dials the infirmary in charge of SOLDIER cadets. "This is Second Class Fair," he tells the bored receptionist. "I have reason to believe Cadet Johnson needs medical attention."

"Sir, he's already here," says the receptionist.

"Yeah?"

"His friends brought him. They say he suddenly collapsed; he's responding to painful stimuli and breathing spontaneously, but we haven't managed to rouse him."

"Fuck," says Zack. Had he - had Cloud and Kunsel - wasted too much time? Neither of them had indicated that anyone had been seriously injured.

"Sir, we're not entirely sure what happened, and we have cause to believe that Johnson's friends are not telling us the entire truth," says the receptionist.

"What exactly did they say?"

"That Johnson collapsed while they were on their way to the Cadet’s lounge. But they're all nervous and reluctant to talk about what happened immediately before that."

"Reluctant how?" Zack doesn't think that Cloud would knock someone unconscious and then wander off without trying to help. Ditto for Kunsel. It goes against everything Zack knows about them.

"We need to know if Johnson ingested any substances, for recreation or enhancement purposes," says the receptionist. "Preliminary blood tests show unusual levels of mako in his system. We suspect an overdose."

Zack breathes a sigh of relief. Cloud and Kunsel wouldn't know anything about that. "I called because two other cadets told me that they got into an altercation with Johnson and his buddies right before he collapsed," says Zack. "I can vouch that neither of them know anything about any drugs Johnson might have been taking."

"Sir, with all due respect, we still need to talk to them," says the receptionist. "They might know more than they realize about Johnson's symptoms directly prior to collapse."

"He was being aggressive. What more do you need to know?"

"Again, sir. With all due respect-"

"-I'm not giving you their names," interrupts Zack. He needs a freaking shower and a twenty-hour nap. Maybe then he'll have the patience for this. "Do not tell the other cadets I called you, which I only did to make sure Johnson had medical attention. I _just_ got back from a mission."

"If you give us the names of the other cadets involved, we'll take this problem off your hands," says the receptionist.

Nobody at ShinRa knows when to give it a rest. "Johnson had black smog coming out his nostrils and mouth before he collapsed. That's all the other cadets know. Now, leave the cadets alone for the next twenty-four hours at least. Let Lt. Armstrong know I'm aware of the situation."

"Okay, sir," says the receptionist. "Twenty-four hours, then we'll need to talk to all involved cadets."

"Right." Zack hangs up before the conversation gets more convoluted.

He's too tired for this shit. One cadet comatose, and another - _Cloud_ \- allegedly stronger than he has any right to be. And mako poisoning, no doubt from the shit street rats ingests to try and become as enhanced as SOLDIERs. Cloud wouldn't do that, though. He's not dumb enough to fry his body with mako sewage. Right? It wouldn't have worked, even if he'd tried; he'd be just as comatose as Johnson.

Zack almost wishes to be back in the swamps and mountains fighting rabid, giant monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now over at Twitter commenting on Persona 5 Royal as I slowly play it😆


	9. The Fountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud Hot Person Privilege, an Examination by Kunsel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not be going back to work in person next week depending on how much my local government decides to admit the existence of the plague.

Sector 8 is crowded every Saturday, and for once, Cloud is glad for it. Kunsel shoots him frustrated looks every once in a while, but he's not about to start whispering about ShinRa business while anyone could overhear. If he's to be believed, ShinRa has eyes and ears everywhere. That's probably an exaggeration, but Cloud's not looking forward to their next conversation, so he's grateful for the rumor. Honestly, Cloud's surprised that Kunsel hasn't told him to fuck off yet, or at least called him names.

Kunsel is his oldest friend in Midgar - older than Zack, even. Like Cloud, he comes from a poor family, though he has siblings and a father, and sometimes gets shit for not keeping up with Midgard's trends. Cloud's fashion sense, or lack of it, also gets him in trouble, but that's not different than Nibelheim. Kunsel, on the other hand, makes an effort to be stylish that goes unnoticed because he can't afford brand names. He also got rejected from the SOLDIER program, but for mako "resistance" (whatever that means) rather than inferior height. They are both misfits, or so Kunsel says.

"I'm sorry," Cloud whispers after the train's security system scans their cart. They're huddled together close to the doors, holding on to the poles close to the ceiling and trying to respect other people's personal space.

"About what?" asks Kunsel, after a moment.

"The tournament," says Cloud. "I showed everyone up, didn't I?"

"That's not what I'm pissed about," says Kunsel, brown eyes narrowed. "I thought you were fucking dead for lying to ShinRa."

Cloud blinks. It had not occurred to him, not once, that Kunsel might be worried _for_ him. "I left you a note."

"Well, fuck me for not thinking to look under your pillow," says Kunsel. "Because _that's_ obvious."

"Uh. . . sorry."

"And you couldn't think to descend from your boyfriend's swanky pad for five minutes to tell me you were alive?"

"Zack's not my boyfriend!"

"Look, whatever. I'll get over it," says Kunsel. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Thank you," breathes Cloud, confused and more than a little suspicious.

That's it? An argument, and after a problem that Cloud had definitely caused, and a friend would just ‘get over it’ without demanding some kind of penance? Seems too good to be true.

When the train stops and the doors open, they spill out onto the train station as soon as they can. "I don't have money for any theater tickets," Cloud warns.

"And I do?" snorts Kunsel. "Let's head that way, anyway - walk around a bit. Maybe someone will drop a. . . What's the book thing that they give you called?"

"I don't know," says Cloud. There aren't any theaters in Nibelheim.

He tries to get his mind off of everything going on as best he can. Even thinking of what he's supposed to tell Zack later is nerve-wracking, because he has nothing coherent to say, just that he feels like his head is too small for his thoughts and focusing on all the impossible things he remembers just makes it worse. He has to admit that he maneuvered an excuse not to call his ma because she'll sense that something is wrong immediately, even with tens of thousands of miles separating them. He doesn't have answers for her either.

Thankfully, Sector 8 brims with street performers most days. Cloud watches the clowns and acrobats at the corners, leaving behind less gil than he normally would since he has a debt to work off. He'll have to give extra next time he visits the theater district.

On the way to the theater, they see a giant poster of Sephiroth in his leather gear. Kunsel stops to admire it, but looking at it now gives Cloud an odd sense of vertigo.

"You’ve really been talking to him every day this week?" asks Kunsel.

"Only for a bit at the end of the day," says Cloud. They don't talk while sparring, so it's not a lie. Technically.

For some reason, he'd rather talk about Rhapsodos or Hewley, but he can't say that, because then he'd have to explain _why_. He doesn't know why. Kunsel would love to hear about sparring with the General, but Cloud doesn’t want to talk about that, either. He wants to avoid everyone who knows about it.

"Does he really wear this get-up every day?"

"Obviously not, man," says Cloud. "He wears a regular SOLDIER uniform, and he ties up his hair too. You saw him at the. . . you know."

"The tournament from hell, yes," says Kunsel. He gestures up at Sephiroth's poster. "What's he like, then?"

"Mostly just a normal guy," says Cloud, though it sounds wrong.

"Really?”

Cloud stares up at the poster's shimmering green eyes. So far, he doesn't have evidence of anything else.

“Holy shit,” Kunsel says suddenly.

“Hm?” Cloud looks at him.

“You’re the cadet Sephiroth’s training,” says Kunsel, gaping at Cloud.

“What? No!” Although, Cloud is. Kind of? “That’s not what’s happening. How do you even know?”

“Because SOLDIERs keep talking about it on their S.O.N. accounts!” Kunsel leans down so he can stare at Cloud’s face more closely. “What the fuck’s going on, Cloud?”

“Nothing!” Oh, Ramuh, what are the SOLDIERs saying? Does _Zack_ know? "Are there pictures?"

“No, that's against regulations because SOLDIER secrets or whatever; not the point. You know I’m a truth-seeker,” says Kunsel. “And there’s some truth to be sought out right now, because none of this shit makes sense.”

“This is all fucking terrible,” says Cloud. “I’m gonna throw up.”

“Why? Is it side-effects?”

“No, I told you, no one did anything to me!” People start looking at them weirdly. “Let's just keep going, okay? We don't want to run into his fanclub. And no, I don’t want to talk about training with him; it’s probably a waste of his time. I haven’t managed to land a single hit. I’ll pass on his advice at some point if I don’t wake up from this simulation." Hopefully, the reference to that particular conspiracy theory will appease Kunsel.

“I’m gonna drop it for now, but remember, I’m a seeker of truth, Cloud,” says Kunsel. “I will continue investigating. On social media.”

Despite himself, Cloud smiles. They keep going.

By the large fountain near the _Loveless_ theater, there's a woman selling brunost that smells exactly like what his ma used to make for him when she was in a good mood. Despite his financial troubles, Cloud gets in line for a taste.

"Kinda cold for ice cream, no?" asks Kunsel.

"Is it?" asks Cloud. Even Nibelheim's mild winters are colder.

"Mountain boys," says Kunsel, rolling his eyes. "I'm gonna get fried waffles and melted chocolate, okay?"

"Okay," says Cloud.

The line moves steadily as Cloud shakes his foot nervously. Not about the crowd or anything, just at being left alone with his thoughts. Zack will want an explanation, and he'll be better at getting it out of him than Kunsel was. Maybe it'll make him feel better, admitting that he's slowly going crazy. Maybe Zack will know what to do. He's a SOLDIER, and Hewley is fond of him. If nothing else, Cloud could use some comfort.

He feels better when he tastes the brunost, though it was rather expensive. Most things in Midgard are, but like his ma says, if you don't use up your money, it ends up owning _you_. That doesn't make economic sense, but it makes Cloud smile to think that she would approve of him enjoying his comparatively meager salary. He looks around, intending to join Kunsel at whatever line he's at, then catches sight of some luminescent wisps coming from the fountain.

More craziness? Cloud looks around. No one else seems bothered.

After a second of hesitation, Cloud walks forward. There should be more people around that fountain - certainly more couples tossing in gil to make wishes. Kunsel once joked that ShinRa accountants probably pick up the coins on a regular basis. Considering all the rusted coins Cloud spots at the bottom, they probably don't do it that often.

Nothing is flickering. Cloud sighs. He probably is losing it. Shaking his head, he turns around to go back to look for Kunsel.

And almost runs into a girl in a pink dress. "Sorry!" he says automatically, before he gets a good look at her.

"Hi."

Cloud's eyes land on her flower basket. He would ask how she got such stunning orchids - gorgeous red orchids in Midgard, of all places - but he really needs to get out. Get away from her.

"Don't run away," she says, stepping in front of him when he tries to walk around her. "I know it's scary, but the Planet's getting annoyed."

"I have to get to my friend," says Cloud. "He's gonna be mad I wandered off."

"Is your name really Cloud?"

Reluctantly, Cloud looks at her. Her bright green eyes catch him by surprise, and not in a good way. It's like someone punched him in the gut.

"Aerith," he says.

"Yeah." She smiles.

Cloud might throw up, which is such a common theme for him lately that he might have to talk to a doctor. He clutches his head and almost drops his brunost. Almost. Crazy or not, he's not about to waste money.

"Are you okay?" asks the girl.

"I think I'm going crazy," says Cloud.

"You're not," she says, touching his shoulder.

Even through his thin sweater, the touch hits him like an electric shock. The clearest vision so far takes him over: a crystal clear lake stained with her blood. Cloud finally drops the brunost, and gasps. He isn't going to cry.

"It's okay," she says. "Let it pass. It's always worse if you fight it."

Cloud opens his eyes, forces himself to look at her sad expression. Aerith, alive again. Maybe all of this is a good thing.

"Why aren't you scared?" Cloud asks her.

She shrugs, reaching into her flower basket. "I am," she says, offering him a red orchid.

Dumbly, Cloud takes it. "These are really hard to grow, aren't they?"

"Oh, I knew I'd meet someone special today," says Aerith. “So I cut a few.”

"Cloud!"

Startled, Cloud looks up. Kunsel is staring between them with his mouth slightly open.

"I have to go," Aerith says, suddenly breathless. "Meet me at the church when you can."

Cloud would ask what she means, but he knows. Somehow, he knows _exactly_ what she means.

"See ya!" says Aerith.

"Wait," says Cloud. "How much is the flower?" He probably can't afford it.

Aerith turns around and winks. "For you? It's on the house." She winks at Kunsel and hurries away from them.

"What the fuck?" says Kunsel.

"I don't know," mumbles Cloud.

"I leave you alone for like five minutes and hot girls are giving _you_ flowers," says Kunsel, shaking his head.

"One girl and one flower," says Cloud, already growing calmer. It’s Aerith. She’s. . . good, the opposite of Sephiroth. And yes, that sounds crazy all on its own, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

"You're the worst thing in my life," says Kunsel.

It's not serious, though, so Cloud just smirks. He offers Kunsel the orchid, then quickly takes it back when he makes a move to slap it out of his hand. It'll look nice in Zack's apartment.

* * *

If Genesis' parents hadn't sold him to Hollander for apple seeds, he might have become a poet/fashion designer/model. He just likes beauty, both visually and verbally. People might find it frivolous, but most people are painfully dull, obsessed with pennies and seeking status for status' sake. And scoffing at it once they’ve earned it. Little Cloud Strife is harder to read than most, but Sephiroth seems to like him. Genesis has never met a man with less artistic insight, so that's already a strike against the boy. The fact that he shows up to Genesis' office before they're due to leave for Master Gyasal’s studio dressed in a mere cadet uniform is another one. Does the boy know where they're going?

"What are you wearing?" asks Genesis by way of greeting.

"My uniform," says Strife.

"Yes, but why?"  
"Because I'm at work," says Strife, like Genesis is the one behaving like an imbecile. He opted for black cargo pants too, but not the standard ShinRa-issue ones. Burgundy with subtle flames hand-sewn at the sides, from a rival designer to Master Gyasal - incentive for her to put on a good show in the morning. He figured Strife would know how to dress for the occasion without being told.

"Never mind," says Genesis, shuddering at the thought of what Strife probably wears while off-duty. The cadet uniform might be uninspired, but at least it's not sweatpants and a t-shirt. "I assume you've prepared an itinerary?"

"Yes," says Strife. "First, the fashion place. Then, the lady from that magazine you like scheduled an interview at the fancy restaurant--”

“--which magazine, Strife? I like more than one.”

“Uh. . .” Strife takes out his notebook and flips a few pages. “ _The Modern Gentleman_.”

“It’s just _Modern Gentleman_ ,” says Genesis, trying to keep his eyes from twitching. What kind of provincial street urchin have they ended up with?

“Okay,” says Strife, making a note. “Then, the _Loveless_ cat play has a new lead actress, and they want your quote for a review."

Bold of them to assume that Genesis will have anything positive to say. Genesis gestures at Strife and starts towards the elevator. He has a car waiting for them.

Strife does not say a word on the way to the studio. Great, at least in theory. Most cadets and lower-class SOLDIERS would start talking to try and make themselves memorable to a First class, even if just in conversation. That tendency has led to some of the most inane exchanges Genesis has ever endured, with the possible exception of the simpering nonsense he's been subjected to at official ShinRa galas. Gaia only knows what idiocy Strife might be compelled to voice; his silence is probably a blessing.

Nevertheless, the quiet in the car is almost unnerving. Strife won't even look in Genesis' direction, instead entertaining himself by gazing out the car window, unfazed by the glacial traffic. Are Midgard's buildings really more interesting than Genesis? Perhaps not, but once Strife becomes bored, he turns his attention to a PHS.

"What are you doing?" asks Genesis.

Strife looks up, cheeks pink.

"I mean." Genesis frowns. The boy isn't doing anything wrong.

"Checking my S.O.N. feed," says Strife.

"What have you been sharing?" asks Genesis, alarmed at the notion of the Firsts' official liaison divulging details of their lives for the whole world to see. He would have heard of it by now.

"Not much," says Strife. "I made an anonymous account a few months ago when I got bored."

Genesis looks at him.

"Not that I'm not busy!" Strife adds quickly. "But there are times when the calls slow down, so I go on S.O.N. to read about chocobo racing and such."

"Why did you make your account anonymous?" asks Genesis, curious despite himself.

"Kunsel - another cadet; he's my friend - warned me about all the crazy people on S.O.N. who might stalk me over stupid sh. . . uh, things."

True enough. Genesis has a personal anonymous account to see what people have to say about him. He has found some genuinely sweet fans that way, but also fools who would have driven him to murder if not for Angeal's calming influence.

"Can I see your account?" asks Genesis.

Strife visibly withdraws.

"It's not an order," Genesis adds quickly. People tend to complain about their superiors online, and if Strife has been doing so. . . Well, it is his right.

"I don't mind," Strife reassures him. "It's just kinda boring. Here." He pushes the PHS in Genesis' direction rather aggressively.

It's a perfectly benign account discussing chocobo racing, so uninspired and generic that it's almost charming. It's called Strife_racer666. The avatar is a generic golden chocobo cartoon from The Golden Saucer's promotional material, and the bio section says that Strife is male, in his late teens, and that he works for ShinRa. Strife's personal engagement is miniscule; his comments get a handful of likes, and his original posts go unnoticed except by two other accounts. They are Kunsel’s (or so Genesis assumes) and Zack Fair's. If he has mentioned his job at all, it's not obvious from a cursory look. On a whim, Genesis memorizes the account name so he can follow it later, perhaps from his anonymous account. He hands the PHS back to Strife.

"You're not going to make it anywhere with random pictures of flowers and stray cats," says Genesis.

"Where am I supposed to make it?" asks Strife.

It's a simple question that stumps Genesis. Doesn't everyone want the same things: followers, influence, prestige? The only person who seems baffled by the notion is Sephiroth, but he already has all three. Strife, on the other hand, is nobody. So Genesis will not get into it with him. He makes a dismissive sound and remains silent for the rest of the drive, losing himself on his own S.O.N accounts. By the time they arrive at the studio, he has followed Strife with his official profile. Why not? The boy is interesting in person, even if his online presence barely crosses the inane threshold.

They don't talk as they exit the ShinRa vehicle, but Strife does automatically follow him back on S.O.N. Perhaps he's more comfortable with indirect interactions. Mollified, Genesis puts his PHS away and enters the building, Strife following closely behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, still on Twitter with my bot name.


	10. Odin's Motorcycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hold-up, and then Tseng lays it all out for Zack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th of July to US Americans and I hope you're able to quarantine as our government pretends the plague isn't happening.

The fashion studio is almost as strange as Cloud expected. It's on the thirty-third floor of a commercial skyscraper, surrounded by other art-type businesses and trendy stores for single items. Everything is a boutique of some sort. Candle boutique. Ice cream boutique. Lingerie boutique. Cat-grooming boutique. Rich people are just wild. If Cloud wasn't currently broke, he would pick a postcard to send to Tifa. He'll have to settle for drinking in the sights, memorizing as much as possible for his next letter. He doubts Tifa will believe it all.

Master Gyasal is a broad-shouldered, tall woman made taller by heels that should be snapping her ankles with every step she takes. They're not just high, but curved in an arch that forces the wearer to lean forward. Also, they are skull-shaped. Her dress has red feathers everywhere, and though her chest is relatively flat, Cloud can't stop looking towards her breasts. She has crystals at the spots where her nipples might be. It's definitely a . . . bold outfit choice.

"Darling," she says to Commander Rhapsodos, air kissing both his cheeks. "We're so happy you could squeeze us into your schedule." She turns kohl-lined eyes on Cloud. "And who's this?"

"Strife, my liaison," says Commander Rhapsodos. "I'm sure you've spoken to him."

"Of course," says Master Gyasal, as Cloud bows politely. "With how ruthless he was on the PHS, I expected an Ifrit breathing fire."

"He's just efficient, my dear," says Commander Rhapsodos. "Let's get on with it. I'm dying to see what you have in store for us."

What they have is a garish show with clothes that wouldn't really function as _clothes_. They're eye-catching, and some are quite beautiful, but one wrong move and most outfits would tear or trip up the model. One of the models struts by in a fuschia suit with a neckline cut so low that someone must have glued the loose fabric to her chest. Cloud doesn’t call it “red” because the word “fuschia” is written down her leg in blocky letters, and he must have read about fuschia at some point and learned that it’s a type of red. Because really, the suit is just red. Maybe dark pink, if the lighting is right. Embroidered with glimmering, glow-in-the-dark thread. No one out in the world would wear such things, not even in a place as batshit as Midgard. Cloud wishes he had read about the studio, or at least asked about fashion in an S.O.N. forum. If anyone asks him anything, he'll sound like the provincial interloper that he is.

"Darling, I love the focus on passion and rebellion," says Commander Rhapsodos at one point.

Well, there's certainly a lot of red. Even Cloud knows that's supposed to stand for love and blood.

The outfits start blurring together pretty soon. Cloud's myriad of problems begin to buzz in the back of his mind: his weird vision memories, his sudden battle prowess, Aer--the girl by the fountain (he can't know her name, he _can't_ ), his inability to confide in Zack about the entire mess.

Zack had not been awake the previous night, so Cloud took that as an excuse to avoid the upcoming conversation. He left a note for him on the kitchen counter before meeting Commander Rhapsodos, but nothing would save him from the conversation tonight. And he has nothing coherent to say.

"My greatest hope is that this year's winter fashion won't be a storm of blacks, blues, and greys," Master Gyasal is telling Commander Rhapsodos, while Cloud quietly freaks out.

"Agreed; they are such dull colors," says Commander Rhapsodos.

"Sir, could I go look around some?" asks Cloud.

Master Gyasal shoots him a dirty look. Whatever. Not his fault that her clothes are dumb.

"Yes, I'll message you when I'm done here," says Commander Rhapsodos.

Cloud would smirk at the silly woman, but the smart thing to do is salute and make himself scarce. There has to be some boutique on the floor that's more geared towards his interests.

He ends up at a store exclusively for motorcycles and related products. Cloud had learned to drive all sorts of vehicles during his year at ShinRa, and motorcycles had been his favorite. He’d told Zack about it, and. . . Well, the thing with the bike Zack bought seems like an inconsequential tiff now. Maybe Cloud had overreacted. It’s not like liking motorcycles is so weird that Zack got his bike _for_ Cloud. Anyone would love a bike.

The speed, the vibration of the motor between his thighs, the roar of the engine, the wind in his hair. . . Cloud's never felt so free. Of course, he can't afford one, and he'd had to send the little bit of gil in his meager savings account last month because his ma's one friend in Nibelheim got a bad case of pneumonia, but Cloud still plans to own his own motorcycle eventually. Maybe he can take Tifa on a ride one day. The store displays a set of helmets with boxing gloves on the windowsill. There are printers at ShinRa. . . Cloud takes out his PHS for a picture - if nothing else, he can describe the design in one of his letters to Tifa.

His S.O.N account has over three hundred notifications. Cloud frowns, then takes his pictures. One of the chocobo jockeys he follows must have won or lost in a spectacular fashion. Or gotten caught abusing illicit mako enhancers. He'll check it out later, after work. No point in getting distracted when there's so much cool stuff at the store.

Half the stuff is completely foreign to him. ShinRa wants him to drive things, not understand how they work. For the time being, he looks at engraved fuel tanks and rear fenders, since he more or less understands what they're supposed to do. A set engraved with the symbols of the Old Tongue catches his eye. For once, it's not incoherent gibberish, but a prayer to Odin. A broadsword is sheathed by its side, and it's either genuine steel or a very good imitation. The hilt is tipped with a bearded skull wearing an eyepatch. Cloud takes a picture for Claudia; she'll get a kick out of it.

A blonde store clerk wearing a skintight red leather suit spots him and walks towards him wearing a coolly professional smile. "Sir," she says.

Cloud blinks, bringing the PHS closer to his chest. Has anyone ever called him that? He's mostly 'kid', 'pretty boy', and other, less flattering names.

"Can I help you with something?" asks the clerk.

"Oh, I'm just looking. I don't have any money, sorry," Cloud says. "I was just taking a picture for my ma. My mom."

The clerk stares at him. He's about to get kicked out of the store. Blushing, he looks down at himself. And remembers that he's in uniform, and that there’s not much difference between a SOLDIER Cadet’s outfit and a real SOLDIER’s.

"I'm here with--my boss," he adds. Commander Rhapsodos is going to demote him.

"Oh?" The clerk sounds interested.

"Well, he's on this floor, but not this store," clarifies Cloud. "He doesn't strike me as the bike type."

A trio of customers enters the store as Cloud babbles: three men, all tall and dressed in regular street clothes, though looser than is in fashion. Especially their jackets. They scan the store and seem to balk when they spot Cloud. No, when they spot his uniform. One of them turns around, mouth open. The guy in the middle hisses something quick that Cloud can't hear, and they start spreading out.

"Perhaps you know others at ShinRa who are the bike type, as you say," says the clerk.

"Huh?" The three guys are looking around intently, not browsing - as though they know what they're looking for. "Sure, but they don't have much more gil than me."

"I'm sure you're selling yourself short," says the clerk, patting his arm. "We have smaller models and several payment plans available."

A fourth man walks into the store, this one dressed in a fancy blue suit with a red tie. He doesn't seem to know the other three, who still glance at each other as they circle around the shop.

"Something's not right," says Cloud.

"Oh, I assure you, everything with our products is very much right," says the clerk. "Perhaps I can assuage some of your doubts?"

"Not with the store," says Cloud. One of the trio has been inching closer to them, hand twitching, holding something under his jacket. Before he can talk himself out of it, Cloud quickly types out an S.O.S. message to Commander Rhapsodos on the PHS touch screen: _at bike store; hostiles spotted; need help_.

He steps closer to the clerk, close enough that her eyes widen and she tries to take a step back. She opens her mouth at the same time that the man looking at Cloud reaches under his jacket. On the other side of the store, a rifle goes off. The customer in the suit goes down, and the clerk lets out a shrill scream.

 _He's dead_ , thinks Cloud, as he grabs the clerk around the waist to roll them over.

The man closer is shooting at them. "Stay down," Cloud tells the clerk, then gets up and topples over some of the merchandise.

Someone is yelling, but Cloud isn't listening. He grabs the Odin sword, just in case it's real, and keeps moving. He gets around the guy closer to them, kicks his feet out from under him. The guy tumbles, letting go of his rifle. It goes off as it hits the floor. Cloud kicks it away, then points the sword under his neck. He looks around.

Guy in the blue suit is lying in a pool of blood. The clerk is curled in a fetal position, hands over her ears, where Cloud left her. Guy number three is gone; must have taken something. The last man is pointing his weapon at Cloud.

"Drop the sword."

"No," says Cloud.

"A bullet is faster," says the man.

True. Which is why Cloud is dead the moment he lets go of the sword. He pushes it down, thoughts racing. "If you shoot, the recoil will make me slice his throat open." Cloud doesn't think the sword is even real. He should've tried to go for the rifle.

The guy pointing the rifle at him is young (or untrained) enough that he hesitates. Whoever he is, he cares for his comrades.

"Get out, and I'll let him go," says Cloud.

"No!" yells the one on the floor, twitching so hard that Cloud _has_ to push the blunt replica sword down.

"As if I'm gonna believe ShinRa scum!" snarls the attacker.

Cloud frowns. He wants to say that most of ShinRa is just people desperate to better their lot in a harsh world, to reason with them, but he doesn't believe it.

"ShinRa is a parasite sucking on our Planet's blood," spits the guy with the rifle. "What's gonna happen when it's all gone, little mutt?"

 _Geostigma_.

A more experienced ecoterrorist would have noticed Cloud's face going slack and taken the opportunity to smoke him out. The one under the replica sword might have felt his arm going slack and slithered away. They aren’t, so they stand still while Cloud glances between them, lost and confused, and as the clerk whimpers. They might have stood there forever, but Commander Rhapsodos walked in and sliced through the guy with the rifle. He falls forward, startling Cloud as harshly as the sound of bullets. His arm goes slack, the replicant sword clattering to the floor, as Commander Rhapsodos smirks. He steps forward, reminding Cloud of the last assailant.

"Wait," breathes Cloud.

The guy on the floor crawls towards his friend, tears streaming down his cheeks. Cloud should not have ratted them out. Death is the best that the last guy can hope for now; the kindest action would be to grab one of the rifles and blow his brains out.

Commander Rhapsodos pierces the guy’s chest with his sword, cleanly, right through the heart. The neck would have been faster. Kinder.

Jumbled thoughts aside, Cloud is nauseous. He has never seen anyone die before, much less die violently. (Except for all the times that he has, and all the people he has killed).

He will throw up if he chases those thoughts, so instead, he looks away and goes to the clerk. Calming her down, somehow, will distract him.

* * *

Strife has handled himself somewhat well. The clerk is alive, though shaken, and the damage to the charming motorcycle boutique had been minimal. Metal does not break easily. Cleaning away the blood will be costly, but the revenue gained from the publicity will be more than worth it for the owners of the store. According to Strife, no assailants had escaped, so there was no one to question. It'd probably been lower plate street rats desperate for money. No need to hand them over to the Turks. Or worse, the Science Department.

The press arrives quickly, since Genesis told Master Gyasal that a commotion had broken out. Her studio is successful, but not so much that she can turn down an opportunity to sell information to the paparazzi. Genesis preens at the reporter's questions, though he makes sure to emphasize that the assailants had been common thieves and had been partially handled by his liaison before he even got to the scene.

"This was an unfortunate incident, but not particularly dangerous," says Genesis. "As long as SOLDIER is here, ready and eager to defend the people, Midgard need not fear common thieves."

The reporter probes more, but Genesis is nothing if not adept at speaking without saying anything. It's a skill that few appreciate. At one point, the questions turn to Strife, and Genesis is retroactively grateful that the boy chose to wear his uniform. He smiles, looking back at the spot where the pretty clerk is weeping on Strife's shoulder. The ShinRa PR Department will swoon at all the pictures of a SOLDIER cadet comforting a crime victim. Although Strife looks a bit distant.

Well, he is handsome enough that he doesn't have to put in effort. The audience will come to their own conclusions about the uniformed blond with bright blue eyes.

"He's a dutiful soldier, our Cloud Strife," says Genesis. "The store owes him a debt."

"What class is he?" asks the reporter.

"He's a cadet," says Genesis. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I do have other plans for the day. Come along, Strife!"

He watches the boy pat the clerk on the shoulder, then pushes her off him gently. She wipes at her eyes, then says something that makes Strife shake his head before answering quickly. The girl responds by gesturing at him to stay put, then grabs one of the store's cards and scribbles something on the back before shoving it at Strife's hand. Her contact information, no doubt. Most men love that kind of simpering attention from women, or so Genesis has surmised, though Strife looks a bit put upon.

"You're well?" Genesis asks him, after they're in the elevator and out of sight.

"Hm?" He seems startled by the question. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"This is your first true battle, is it not?" Genesis had reviewed the boy's file thoroughly after Sephiroth selected him. He had been in the SOLDIER Cadet program since his arrival at ShinRa and never been involved in any missions aside from mundane and uneventful guard duty.

"I guess," says Strife, with a dismissive single-shoulder shrug. "I've been in lots of fights before though, 'cause. . . Whatever. It wasn't that bad."

"Because what?" insists Genesis.

"What?"

"Why were you in a lot of fights before?" repeats Genesis.

"I've been bullied my whole life, okay?" says Strife. "It doesn't have anything to do with anything, so whatever."

Bullied? Someone so pretty and apparently talented? And so harshly that guns and death don't seem to phase him? There must be more there, but Genesis will hardly give Strife the satisfaction of prying for details. He could put the brat in his place for speaking out of turn, but it's oddly satisfying to have someone talk back to him so frankly. Someone who isn't a ShinRa executive who views him as a stock dividend, that is. Or Sephiroth. For now, he'll indulge Strife's fire.

* * *

Zack's shoulder feels better when he wakes up, but the rest of him feels like it got run over by one of Heidegger's rampaging machines. Or Scarlett's. Hard to know which one of the creepy bastards is responsible for ShinRa's mechanical shenanigans sometimes. He moves to get out of bed, cringing at the odd shooting pain into his elbow. Not done healing yet, though the mobility is already improving. That horn would have torn through anyone unenhanced. It nearly tore through him.

Glancing over at his PHS reminds Zack of the clusterfuck with Cloud. Aches and pains forgotten, he leaps to his feet. He goes out of his bedroom, then remembers his teeth and goes back to do basic self-maintenance in the bathroom. As he brushes his teeth, he glares at the neon-blue glow of mako in the bathroom mirror. Leaving for his last mission without checking on Cloud had been such a stupid move. Would it have cost him anything to pass by the cadet barracks to check him out? Zack shakes his head. No point in dwelling on the past; what's important is making sure Cloud is safe going forward.

There's a note in the kitchen counter for him.

_Am okay; went to work with Commander Rhapsodos. Left you mashed potatoes and sausage for breakfast._

_Cloud._

Of course. Cloud had said something about working six days a week; a detail that would have been alarming if not for all the other odd aspects of his story. The Firsts have no concept of a normal work week, especially not Rhapsodos and Sephiroth. At least Angeal had a relatively normal life until he was around ten; but even he tends to forget that most people who aren't SOLDIERs need periodic rest.

Overworked or not, Cloud should be safe enough while trailing Rhapsodos around Midgard's high society - his usual Sunday habits, if the fan clubs are to be believed. Zack smiles as he heats up Cloud's leftovers, thinking of the gossip that's about to overtake the S.O.N forums. There will be pictures and wild, hilarious speculation that will make Cloud blush as pink as a flower.

Zack mulls over the situation as he eats. The infirmary likely worked around his demand to leave things be for twenty-four hours, though they likely didn't search directly for the cadets that tipped him off. Not that it would take long to figure it out, indirectly or not, so he decides to just go to the lion's den after breakfast and head straight to the infirmary to be interrogated by lab coats. He needs to check on Johnson anyway. Zack doesn't remember much of the kid, except that his dad is a prominent ShinRa shareholder who could and would make a great deal of noise if the fruit of his loins calls to complain.

It turns out that Zack won't have to worry about any calls from Jonhson.

"Cadet Johnson died last night," the stout, older nurse at the infirmary front desk tells him, when he arrives at the infirmary.

"What?" Cloud and Kunsel had both been fine. A little agitated, but definitely not worried that Johnson would fucking _die_.

"His condition abruptly worsened," says the nurse, while Zack's thoughts race. "Forgive me sir, but I have to inform Dr. Glade that you've arrived."

They expected him to come. Of course they did. Zack braces himself. There's no time to ruminate about what could have been, or how he should have prepared better. At minimum, he'll have to charm some Turks. The nurse herself is all motherly and apologetic, and Zack bets that’s the last bit of comfort he’ll get before ShinRa brings out the big guns.

The nurse leads him to an out-of-the-way conference room that does not pass the area with patients. It may be a coincidence, but considering everything that’s going on, Zack errs on the side of caution. They leave him waiting for long enough so he gets nervous, a tactic that Zack recognizes from working with Turks. He’s glad that he brought his sword; nevermind that he could probably fight off the nurse escorting him unarmed. Assuming she doesn’t sprout wings, tentacles, or _winged_ tentacles.

Zack shakes his head after the lady leaves in the room, and goes to sit down. He’s been hanging out in Kunsel’s favorite S.O.N forums for too long. ShinRa is not that nefarious. He’s personally gone through it’s shady SOLDIER program, hasn’t he? And his doctor is Hojo, the notoriously creepier ShinRa human experimenter.

Is that what happened to Johnson? Zack hadn’t known the guy well; had taken him as a climber interested in Zack’s meteoric rise through SOLDIER, a way to get close to Angeal. It hadn’t helped that he’d once caught the guy being a dick to Cloud. Nevertheless, he hadn’t deserved to die, to lose the chance to become a better person. And Cloud and Kunsel do not deserve to get caught in whatever craziness Johnson had gotten involved in either.

The door to the conference room slides open, startling Zack out of his thoughts. He looks up and finds none other than Tseng, unofficial leader of the Turks, gazing at him with his famous placid smile and pretty brown eyes. Zack forces himself not to look away as Tseng strides forward and sits across from him, straightening the already-smooth lines of his black suit. Anyone else might look like they’re nervously indulging a nervous tic, but Tseng looks like a lion deciding if his prey is worth the effort of killing it. A ridiculous thought. Zack is taller and broader, armed with a gigantic sword, and also a literal super soldier. And Tseng likes him well enough; it’s why Zack is assigned to work directly with the Turks as often as he is.

“We have quite an unfortunate situation in our hands, don’t we?” says Tseng.

“Yeah,” says Zack. And does not volunteer anything else.

“Cissnei told me your last mission took a difficult turn towards the end,” says Tseng, “and that you performed admirably.”

“Tell her thanks for me,” says Zack.

Tseng smiles. “I’ll not waste either of our time. We know Johnson got into an altercation with Cloud Strife and Kunsel right before he collapsed, and that they told you about it when you got back.”

“Great, then why the interrogation?”

“Come now, Zack,” says Tseng. “You’re not being _interrogated_. In fact, I trust your judgment and have held off on questioning either Strife or Kunsel since you seemed so determined not to name them in your report.”

That makes exactly one of them, then. Zack has little idea of what’s going on, and he’d been too exhausted to keep Cloud or Kunsel in his apartment. For all he knows, he didn’t act quickly enough about Johnson, and now the brat is dead partly due to his inaction.

“Why didn’t you want us to talk to Strife?” asks Tseng. “And I assume this is mostly about him, and Kunsel is merely an unlucky bystander.”

“He has nothing to do with whatever Johnson did,” says Zack. “Neither of them do.”

“Oh, we don’t believe Strife is doing anything intentionally,” says Tseng. “It’s more accurate to say that something is happening _to_ him, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Zack,” says Tseng, tilting his head, “the boy became the most skilled fighter in his group literally overnight. Our first assumption was that he started abusing some type of illicit mako substance.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Zack says quickly. “He wouldn’t.” It doesn’t matter that nothing else makes sense. Zack _knows_ Cloud; he’s cautious and fair, and practically all his money ends up back in Nibelheim.

"We concluded as much," says Tseng.

Zack blinks.

"His behavior is avoidant, not erratically violent," says Tseng. "He is not known among illicit mako dealers, and he does not have significant outstanding financial debt. He has been working steadily with the Firsts all week."

Yes. Zack feels himself sag with relief. That's what he'd been thinking, thought not without worrying that he was in denial. Tseng has no reason to want to cover for Cloud, or for his own guilt, so he must be right. But. . .

"Then what's happened to him?" asks Zack.

"That's what we hope you'll help us figure out," says Tseng.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to him since I got back," says Zack. "And it's not his fault; it's just been crazy, and I was so tired."

"He called you in the middle of your mission," says Tseng.

 _Thanks, Cissnei._ Zack considers denying it, but their conversation at the time was hardly incriminating.

"He just asked if he could stay at my apartment for a while," says Zack. "I didn't ask why."

"And he has been there all week." Tseng nods to himself. "Has he explained why?"

"Look, they just told me about Johnson last night," says Zack.

"What exactly did they say?"

"What, like, word for word?" asks Zack.

"Describe the conversation as specifically as you can," says Tseng, crossing his legs as if to show that he has all the time in the world.

"They told me that tournament that Cloud won, argued because Kunself missed Cloud's pillow note about where he would be, and _then_ said they almost got into a fight with Johnson before he collapsed," says Zack.

"Why did Strife hide out in your apartment?" Tseng is like a dog with a bone.

"He just didn't want to face Lt. Armstrong and the rest of the cadets." Zack rubs his forehead. "He was embarrassed about winning, fretting about the other cadets thinking he cheated and unable to explain how he won. And probably occupied managing Rhapsodos' social media life. Fuck, we could be gossiping about that right now."

"He said this?"

"He doesn't have to; I know him," says Zack. "He's very shy, okay? I know how uncommon that is around here, but there's nothing more to it than that."

Tseng nods. "That's a plausible interpretation of events."

"Ah, so you believe me?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" asks Tseng.

"I don't know, Tseng. I'm still fucking tired, and you talk like a weirdly sexy and intimidating corporate legal robot."

Tseng's eyes widen, and then he chuckles. "I will take that as a highly specific compliment."

"One that I meant with all the honesty in my jock heart," says Zack.

"Has Strife been sick lately?" asks Tseng, abruptly getting the conversation back on track.

"No," says Zack. "I mean, not in the hour or so I spent with him yesterday."

"And he hasn't complained of any physical ailments lately?"

"No." Zack bites his lower lip. "I mean. . ."

"Yes?"

"Before l left, the day after his birthday." Zack looks at Tseng. "He woke up. . . upset. I thought it was because of a nightmare or something, but he looked. . . ill. I offered to take him to the infirmary, and he--" _freaked out_ "--said no."

"Did he vomit black smog?"

"What? Hell, no! I'd have dragged him to a doctor kicking and screaming."

"Hm." Tseng takes out his PHS and scrolls down the touchscreen.

Zack leans forward to shamelessly peer at what he's doing.

Tseng leans back and raises the screen closer to his face without bothering to tell Zack off.

"Strife will, of course, be examined by one of our doctors," says Tseng.

"Right," says Zack. He crosses his arms over his chest. "And if he says he's not sick?"

"He is in the SOLDIER program," says Tseng, gaze still focused on the screen.

"Which he can quit whenever he wants," says Zack.

"Can he?"

Zack shrugs. He's sure their contract is not that flexible. "He hasn't had any enhancements yet."

"Why would he quit when he's been doing so well?" Tseng types something on the screen. "The Firsts have nothing but glowing praise for him, even Sephiroth."

"Maybe he wants to end his ShinRa career on a good note."

"Come now, Zack." Tseng waves a hand dismissively. "The boy didn't leave his provincial mountain village with nothing but the clothes on his back because he has great prospects outside of ShinRa."

"His prospects out there are better than his prospects in some science cage," says Zack, not that he necessarily believes that.

For all he knows, Cloud’s batshit mother will disown him for his failure or something. The old folk can have strange notions about worth and fairness. Claudia Strife had sent her son out into the world (in general, not even Midgard, specifically) so that he could triumph over his demons, or some other dramatic shit. The particulars escape Zack at the moment, but it wouldn’t surprise him if she decided that her son couldn’t simply quit ShinRa over a threat of human experimentation.

Tseng gives him a look. "We're hardly asking to vivisect Strife; we're asking him to submit to a routine physical exam and some blood work. This isn't just about him, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Science Department suspects that Johnson died of some novel, mako-related infectious disease," says Tseng.

"Infectious?"

"I'm no scientist, of course," says Tseng. "The details escape me."

"Somehow, I doubt that," says Zack.

"You flatter me," says Tseng. "But what reason do you have to accuse me of understanding the intricacies of mako bioengineering?"

"Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if you’ve got a PhD in that shit," says Zack.

"Regardless," says Tseng, "I've called Strife here. You will tell him to cooperate with the physical."

"Will I?"

"Of course," says Tseng. "You can even be in the room, if you like. Then, we can all put this stressful affair behind us and move on to better things."

Zack searches for something clever to say, but that's a good deal. He'll feel better about the whole thing if he can be in the room while the lab coat pokes and prods at Cloud.

"Okay, I'll be here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at work now so I expect less time to write.


	11. S.O.N. Social Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward physical exam and an emergency meeting.

Commander Rhapsodos tells him that he has to report to the infirmary as he takes notes from the strange magazine lady's upcoming schedule. Cloud almost breaks his fountain pen. Terror grips his throat.

"Strife, is something wrong?"

"No," he says. He'd stopped breathing, so it comes out like a wheeze. "I mean, don't you need me here?"

Rhapsodos smiles. "I made do without you before."

"Yeah, you must have," says Cloud. He doesn't mean it as a joke, but the lady giggles at him.

"Right, then, run along," says Commander Rhapsodos, patting him on the shoulder.

Cloud nods and hands his notebook over to him. "Write out all the stuff you're planning to do, so I know how to schedule stuff for the rest of the week."

He gets an odd look for that and another giggle from the lady. People are the worst. He's just trying to do a good job. Evidently, Commander Rhapsodos works that out, because he takes Cloud's notebook and pen without another word and shoos him off.

Though he'd rather be literally anywhere else, Cloud runs back to the driver and informs him that Commander Rhapsodos wants him dropped off at the infirmary near the SOLDIER cadet barracks. The man salutes _him_ , which does nothing to ease Cloud's sense of disorientation.

"Thanks," says Cloud.

The driver's eyes widen, because there's no protocol about what to do if someone thanks you for saluting. Cloud should know; he has probably saluted people a million times over the last year.

"Okay, let's go," says Cloud, rushing to the back of the car before the guy can open the door for him. If that happens, he might actually commit ritual suicide on the spot. The world is going absolutely crazy.

There’s no need to calmly march to his death - or worse, back to Hojo’s clutches. The driver is meek enough; Cloud bets the man would do nothing if just asked him to stop the car and got out to disappear into Midgard’s crowds. He’s done it before, just melted into the background, wild hair and all.

He's overreacting. It's just the infirmary. He's been there more times than he can count when the science people want to take notes about random shit, like how lungs work or whatever. The nurses are usually pretty nice to him. If he was in trouble, then Commander Rhapsodos would have been mad at him. There's absolutely no reason for him to be at the edge of a panic attack. He takes out one of the PHSes to distract himself with S.O.N.

For some unfathomable reason, he finds over a thousand notifications for his account.

He refuses to even open the application. Some jockey must have gotten caught sniffing raw mako - or worse, making his chocobo sniff raw mako - and Cloud is not going to piss himself off about it. Although. . . being pissed usually feels better than being scared. He gets the PHS out to see what's happening, opens the S.O.N. app, and laughs to himself. The notifications are almost all likes to his inane posts, private messages, and follow requests. It's like all of Midgard is playing a mean practical joke on him, or trying to drive him crazy. Or both. He puts the PHS down without reading any of the messages.

 _A hunter is calm and patient, my little stormcloud,_ Claudia used to say.

He'd never been much of a hunter, but he sure needs to get it together before they arrive at the infirmary. This is about Johnson, and about his sudden battle prowess. They won't believe that he doesn't know what the hell is happening if he sounds as crazy as he feels, so he tries his ma's breathing exercises on the drive over. They never did much for him, but breathing feels moderately better than praying to Odin. At least he's not feeling a fine tremor by the time the driver drops him off.

The walk to the infirmary feels like marching to his execution, at least until he spots Zack waiting for him by the front door, Buster Sword at his back and everything. Cloud grins, a hysterical laugh trying to escape him, then runs to meet him, uncaring that a few cadets are milling about giving him weird looks.

"Cloud!" Zack beams at him, then pulls him into a tight hug and kisses his hairline.

Cloud blushes. This is why people keep saying that he's Zack's side piece and other, nastier things. They just don't get that Zack is a touchy guy.

"You okay?" asks Zack.

"Yeah," says Cloud, surprised that he's not lying. If Zack is around, then everything will be fine. "But why are you here?"

Zack pushes him back slightly to look him in the eyes. "Johnson's dead."

"What?"

"He died overnight," says Zack.

"No, that's. . ." Cloud swallows. "That doesn't make sense. The Whispers don't. . . They were just mad because he tried to hurt me."

Zack's eyes narrow. "Listen to me, Cloud. The doctors are going to ask you a few questions and do a physical."

Cloud tries to pull away, but Zack's grip on him tightens. "I'm gonna be with you the entire time, okay? I won't let them hurt you."

"They always hurt me," says Cloud, confused.

Why would Zack - _Zack_ \- turn him over to the Science Department? It must not be him; it must be a clone. Like Sephiroth’s clones. They would do shit like just to mess him up more; he has to get _away_ from them.

When Zack - the clone - doesn’t let go, he drives his knee into its stomach. The clone barely flinches and wraps its arms around Cloud, slipping its legs between Cloud’s feet, ready to knock him to the ground. Cloud squirms, trying not to scream. Others will come. Screaming never made it better.

"Shit," says Zack, shaking him. "Cloud! What's wrong?"

"Zack?" Cloud blinks, wondering why Zack looks so worried. And why his heart is racing. "Are you okay?"

"You're crying," says Zack.

"What!" Cloud squirms away and wipes at his cheeks. He has to get a grip; what the fuck?

"Let's go in," says Zack.

"Okay," says Cloud, shaking his head as he rubs his eyes. He lets Zack hold his hand and trods after him.

* * *

Zack should have chugged Hypers yesterday rather than go to sleep because something is very obviously wrong with Cloud. How the hell had he missed it? Maybe the Grand Horn also gored him in the skull. Cloud looked like Zack had run him through with the Buster Sword when Zack told him about the physical. Also, what the fuck are the 'Whispers', and (Gaia help them) did Cloud sic them on Johnson? Even by mistake?

_Get it the fuck together, Fair._

The situation is salvageable. Tseng still thinks they're working together, so nobody will get too suspicious if he doesn't deliver Cloud to them immediately. Cloud seems a little confused, but he's still trustingly following Zack, holding his hand and everything. As long as Cloud can follow some basic instructions, they should walk out of the infirmary without shit having absolutely hit the fan. That should buy them enough time for Zack to enlist Angeal's help.

It's a shame that he can't just trust ShinRa to help with this, considering they’re more than willing to make allowances for SOLDIERs. But they’re dealing with potential human mako-enhancements. ShinRa's greatest corporate secret. They'd kill Cloud before they’d risk losing him to Wutain spies. Zack drags him to a bathroom, since that's the most likely spot not to be under video surveillance.

"Okay, buddy," says Zack, scanning under the stall doors to make sure there's no one taking a dump and listening. Seems like they're in the clear.

He looks down at Cloud's wide blue eyes. Away from the sunlight, the faint ring of glowing mako around his irises is more obvious. If Cloud's eyes were not such a brilliant blue to begin with, Zack might have caught it yesterday. "Time to get our story straight."

"I've been trying to think of something, but there’s not a plausible lie," says Cloud.

"What are Whispers?"

"Uh, things you say in a low voice?" says Cloud, and any other time, the silent _you moron_ in his tone would have been cute.

"Fuck," breathes Zack, rubbing his eyes.

"Zack?"

"They're gonna examine you and ask some questions," says Zack. "Tell them you feel fine, and that you don't know anything about what happened after Johnson and his buddies tried to jump you."

"That's gonna be easy, since I _don't_ know anything," says Cloud. "Except--"

"--No!" Zack touches Cloud's lips to sush him. "No excepts or maybes or you think or anything. You don't know shit until we get back to my apartment. And I sweep for bugs."

"Okay."

"Tell me, Cloud. What do you know?"

"I don't know anything," says Cloud, shrugging.

"And how do you feel?"

"Completely fine."

"Good," says Zack. "I told Tseng about you looking weird the day before I left for my mission, but other than that, you feel fine."

"I don't remember that," says Cloud.

"Even better," says Zack. "Let's go get this over with."

On a whim, Zack leans down to kiss Cloud's forehead again. Cloud glares, but just stands there and lets himself be held. Zack releases his hand and leads him out to find the nurse.

She takes them to a generic examination room and hands Cloud one of those hospital gowns before leaving. Cloud goes behind the curtain to change into the gown without a word. So far, so good - no different than one of the random physicals that SOLDIERs and SOLDIER candidates have to go through. Most of the Science Department is professional, if not exactly kind, so there's no need to jump to the worst conclusion immediately.

Then, none other than Hollander himself walks through the door. Zack almost doesn’t recognize him, since Hojo has handled his mako treatments. Hollander is a middle-aged man with a large belly who's fond of funny dumapple shirts that could stand to be a couple of sizes bigger. Angeal doesn't hold him in high regard, which is enough for Zack to essentially write him off.

"Eh, one of Hojo's," Hollander says when he spots Zack, scratching his greying beard.

Still, not the worst-case scenario. "I doubt Professor Hojo knows my name." Hojo would be the worst-case scenario, since he has President ShinRa hanging onto his every word.

"He doesn't need to know your name, boy," says Hollander, waddling forward to see the notes that the nurse left on the table. He puts on a pair of latex gloves.

Cloud's file, or so Zack assumes.

"A bit mediocre, except for last week," mumbles Hollander. "The abrupt change is the point, though."

Cloud steps out from behind the curtain with the gown firmly wrapped around his body. He looks straight ahead as he sits on the examination bed. Zack nods at him, relieved that he has no reason to recognize Hollander on sight.

"Let me look at you," says Hollander, walking forward and grasping Cloud's chin. "Exceptionally symmetrical features, thick hair and eyelashes. How are your teeth?"

Where does ShinRa find these people?

Cloud opens his mouth to speak, but Hollander starts examining his teeth. As though he's checking a dog for purity. He knows Cloud technically volunteered for this - everyone in the SOLDIER program did - but they're all still people. It's not a painful examination, though, so Zack holds his tongue. It doesn't take long - Hollander listens to Cloud's heart, lungs, and belly, pokes at his abdomen and feels his major muscles and joints. Zack averts his gaze for the quick and clinical groin examination (not strictly routine, but Cloud doesn't complain about it, so fine). Hollander is wearing gloves, so it's _fine_ , as long as Cloud allows it.

"Nothing special so far," says Hollander, turning around to change his gloves.

Which he should have changed after sticking his fingers in Cloud's mouth, but whatever. Zack's not a doctor.

"I feel fine," says Cloud.

"Quiet, boy," says Hollander.

Zack rolls his eyes, making Cloud smile. Seeing Cloud a little relaxed soothes him.

Next, Hollander gets that thing doctors use to look at eyes and ears, and that's going to be the dangerous part. The ring of mako around Cloud's eyes is already obvious even without that thing. Hollander starts with the ears. That part goes smoothly, though Cloud does frown when Hollander starts running his fingers through his hair and kneading his scalp. Then, he orders Cloud to stare straight ahead and focuses the little scope on Cloud's left eye. Hollander gasps, stares for a few long seconds while Cloud blinks, then moves on to the other eye. He spends a few long moments staring, until Cloud blinks furiously and leans back.

"Fascinating," breathes Hollander, stepping back to write out some chicken scratch on Cloud's file. "Any vision changes, boy?"

"No," says Cloud, without an instant of hesitation.

"So, we're done here?" asks Zack.

"I still have to draw his blood," says Hollander.

"Hurry it up, then," says Zack. "I have shit to do."

"You don't have to be here if you don't want to be," says Hollander.

Cloud's eyes get wide, so Zack mouths _it's okay_ at him and resolves to shut up.

The blood drawing doesn't take long, anyway. For a hysterical second, Zack is afraid that Cloud's blood has turned green or something equally crazy, but it's as red as any random person's blood. Hollander takes five vials, then wipes down the inside of Cloud's elbow and stares at the puncture intently. It clots in a matter of seconds. Zack's no doctor, but he's had his own blood drawn several times. Both before and after getting his mako injections. Unenhanced people are supposed to get cotton and a bandaid. Cloud doesn't need one.

"We're done for now, boy," says Hollander. "You can put your clothes back on. My people will contact Lazard for your follow-up."

* * *

It's been some time since Strife has been helping smooth Sephiroth's life, so of course there needs to be a meeting about it. An impromptu Sunday meeting including Tseng and Lazard that hasn't been scheduled by Strife himself; the reason why Sephiroth assumes that it must be about him. While waiting in front of Lazard’s office, he checks one of the news aggregators on S.O.N. (sometimes, incidents light up the blogosphere before ShinRa's PR wing can fabricate and disseminate a mildly coherent story) and finds reports of Genesis heroically thwarting a robbery. It seems that a pair of slum rats attempted to loot a high-end motorcycle boutique. Sephiroth stores that bit of information away (potential target for hostiles looking for mechanical equipment that could be repurposed for explosives), and then starts scanning S.O.N. for gossip.

He texts Genesis a quick message.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [13:14]_  
Is anything wrong with Strife?

 **Genesis** _Today at [13:14]_  
He's fine.

Right. Now what? The meeting has been delayed for an hour, otherwise Sephiroth would be relaxing in his apartment’s relative privacy. He finds himself unsatisfied with such a simple and straightforward answer about Strife’s current status.

He should not be. The details of a mundane hold-up at a random Midgard store are bound to be tedious, and Genesis would not have allowed Strife to come to harm, if only to protect his own reputation. Sephiroth keeps scrolling through articles, anyway. The only other option is to press Genesis for details, but then he would have to explain why he cares. Instead, he goes back to S.O.N. Most of the press focuses on Genesis' role, and since Sephiroth will undoubtedly hear about it later, ad nauseum, it doesn't hold his attention.

He does find news of Strife. . . Although calling it "news" is a bit of a stretch. It seems that Genesis has followed Strife's S.O.N. account, and it has sent the fanclubs reeling in a whirl of speculation about who exactly Strife is. And it must be Strife, because why else would Genesis follow a random account that sporadically posts inane thoughts and predictions about Chocobo racing? Sephiroth finds the first actual picture of Strife in one of the threads: an off-center snapshot of him comforting a girl. A few minutes of digging later, Sephiroth has surmised that it must be the clerk at the store that was robbed.

Idly, Sephiroth goes back to Strife's S.O.N. account and looks at his older posts. It is truly a mundane feed with minimal pictures, with very few of Strife himself. There are a few selfies taken by Zack Fair that also include Strife, and one with another cadet that Sephiroth does not recognize (Kunsel, most likely, who has been identified in reports as Strife’s friend). They seem like genuine candids and not the promotional nonsense that influencers (and Genesis) spend hours perfecting. In other words, they are boring snapshots of a regular life that Sephiroth finds fascinating only because he's never had anything resembling normal.

Several months prior, Strife took a picture of a frying egg and for some reason decided to share it with the world.

 _This is the perfect yolk:egg white ratio_ , he had announced, followed by the smiley-face clapping emoji.

Sephiroth agrees. The yolk is a brilliant orange (suggesting a free-range, grass-fed chicken), perfectly round, dead-center, and taking up approximately one-fourth of the egg's surface area. If he'd had access to such a perfect egg, he would have added a dash of salt and pepper, then sliced a tomato to place beside it. Perhaps some glazed mushrooms and a few slices of sausage.

Sephiroth likes the post.

He considers commenting on it to agree that, yes, the egg is indeed perfect (and he has never commented on any single thread on S.O.N. ever and only sporadically likes posts about sword maintenance). But it's a very old post. Genesis advises against commenting on posts older than a couple of days at most. It's apparently a sign of "desperation". For what, exactly, Sephiroth isn't sure. He just doesn't want to breach etiquette and give Strife the wrong idea.

Then he decides to follow Strife's account. It is public, and Genesis has already followed it, so it must be a socially acceptable action.

Angeal wanders in a few minutes later, as Sephiroth keeps looking through Strife’s S.O.N. account, marvelling at the increasingly unhinged comments people are leaving on his posts. Most are time-stamped within the last few hours, and very few have anything to do with Strife’s actual posts.

“Yo,” says Angeal. “Meeting got delayed?”

“Yes,” says Sephiroth.

“Great,” says Angeal, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t mind me; not like I’m busy or anything.”

Sephiroth glances up, noting that Angeal is dressed in casual clothes, so he must not in fact be busy. It's an idle complaint, so Sephiroth goes back to absorbing a truly bizarre argument about Genesis that two people are having in Strife’s comments section.

“What are you looking at?” asks Angeal.

“S.O.N. Why is the subject of Genesis’ hair such a controversial topic?”

“Uh, I’d say you’re the one with controversial hair,” says Angeal.

“I mean whether or not Genesis dyes his hair,” clarifies Sephiroth. “Obviously, he dyes it. The highlights are a different shade of blond practically every week.”

“Okay, you must be really bored if you’re giving your opinion on Gen’s highlights,” says Angeal, smiling. “When was the last time you even checked his account?”

“I’m not looking at his account, I’m looking at Strife’s,” says Sephiroth. “For some reason, Gen’s fan club is spamming it.”

“Huh,” says Angeal, reaching for his own PHS. “You know, I should follow Strife’s account, cadet or not. I have a feeling he’s gonna be around for a while, even if he never officially makes it into SOLDIER.”

“Me too,” says Sephiroth, though he’s certain that Strife will eventually make it into SOLDIER. He has sparred with the boy a few times, and his reflexes and instincts are excellent, even if his actual skill leaves much to be desired. That can always improve.

Sephiroth gets a notification from his group chat with the other Firsts.

 **Genesis** _Today at [13:22]_  
What’s going on? The Loveless adaptation is about to start.

 **Angeal** _Today at 13:22]_  
No idea. Seph and I are waiting for the meeting outside Lazard’s office.

 **Genesis** _Today at 13:23]_  
Well, I doubt they’ll need all of us. Tell them I’m busy.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [13:23]_  
Okay.

Meetings always end faster without Genesis’ dramatics.

Lazard walks out of his office shortly after with polite apologies about the wait. Sephiroth lets Angeal make excuses for Genesis and walks in, nodding when he spots Tseng himself standing by the conference table, looking as immaculate as ever. President ShinRa’s eyes and ears, the one person who ShinRa’s shareholders fear more than Sephiroth. This must be serious, then, and hopefully, it has nothing to do with Strife. It would be a shame for him to be caught up in Turk business. Or worse -- for him to be involved with some business directly related to President ShinRa.

“Gentlemen,” says Tseng, with a slight bow. “Thank you for coming despite the short notice.”

“No problem, “ says Angeal, while they all sit down. “Is this some kind of emergency?”

“Of a sort,” says Tseng, “thought mercifully, not one that will require combat.”

“Then why call us?” asks Sephiroth. Fancy publicity aside, SOLDIERs are ShinRa’s attack dogs. If combat is not required, then they’ll be of little use.

“It is related to our work,” says Lazard, passing them a memo. “You are aware of the sudden increase in feral, mako-corrupted beasts, correct?”

“Yeah,” says Angeal, as Sephiroth flips through his copy of the report. “Zack was gone for the entire week hunting them.”

SOLDIERs have been gathering intel and samples from these beasts for months and delivering them to the Science Department. They'd started appearing near reactors, but had spread out all over the Planet and started invading remote villages. So far, no supply chains have been affected, but it's only a matter of time. A part of Sephiroth hopes they keep coming. Nature is the only entity that has a chance - and a rather slim one at that - to stop ShinRa.

"Our scientists believe that these beasts are suffering spontaneous mako poisoning," says Lazard.

"What?" says Angeal. "What do you mean 'spontaneous'?"

"The particulars of the science do not concern us," says Tseng.

"They kinda do," says Angeal. "Does that mean random monsters can go feral at any moment?"

"Does that mean that a person could?" asks Sephiroth.

Across the room, Lazard straightens his papers. Sephiroth pays him no mind. He looks at Tseng as he speaks, because always, Tseng knows at least twice as much as he pretends to know.

"What a curious thing to say, General," says Tseng.

"Seph, what do you mean?" asks Angeal.

"People can get mako poisoning," says Sephiroth. "That's what a SOLDIER is, no? A man with controlled mako poisoning."

"Our doctors might take issue with that assessment," says Lazard, "but in any case. We've called you here because we have indeed identified humans with a similar affliction to the mako-rabid monsters."

"Shit," says Angeal.

Sephiroth just nods. "They shouldn't be harder to deal with than the monsters. In fact, they should be easier."

"As I said," says Tseng, "this problem will not require combat assistance."

"Because people are weak," says Angeal, resigned. "They'll just get sick and die."

And ShinRa won’t care, unless. . . “There’s an outbreak of this in Midgard, isn’t there?” Sephiroth asks, looking at Tseng. Midgard is ShinRa’s consumer base, and also, its product.

“Outbreak is a rather strong word,” says Tseng. “There’s been a cluster of suspicious cases of mako poisoning in unexpected places.”

“Terrible, of course,” says Angeal. He feels it, Sephiroth knows, just like he knows that it offends him that Tseng is quite obviously unfazed. “But since we’re here, I’m guessing SOLDIER is somehow involved.”

“Yes, unfortunately,” admits Lazard, who looks slightly more affected than Tseng. Slightly. “Two SOLDIER cadets have been affected.”

“Who?” demands Angeal.

“Cadet Johnson regrettably passed away last night,” says Lazard.

Sephiroth can’t quite place the name. He glances at Angeal, who has more contact with the Thirds and cadets, but the name doesn’t seem to affect him greatly, either. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth is set in a thin line, but there’s no evidence of greater emotional distress. Someone he hadn’t been close with, then. Good. Sephiroth does not like seeing Angeal or Genesis upset (and Genesis does love being upset).

“And who’s the second?” asks Angeal.

“Cloud Strife,” says Tseng.

Sephiroth stops breathing.

Because it makes no sense. Genesis had said, less than an hour ago, that Strife was fine. Sephiroth had seen him every day last week, as recently as Friday evening, and the boy had been as calm and steady as ever. They had sparred the day before that, and while Sephiroth had not been challenged, Strife had not complained and performed. . . well? Except, what does Sephiroth know? Even Angeal has complained that he has no sense of what might be beyond a normal human’s capabilities. Perhaps Strife had been ill, and Sephiroth had, in his inhumanity, missed some obvious signs.

"Nah, I just texted with Genesis, and the kid's fine," says Angeal. "The lab coats must have gotten the samples confused or something."

"A thorough physical examination by Dr. Hollander himself confirms that Strife has indeed been exposed to high levels of mako," says Lazard.

"Exposed where?" asks Angeal. "He's been in the SOLDIER program all year, and if we're going by that rumor that he got mako from unprotected sex with Zack Fair, then I have it on good authority that no sex is happening at all."

What? Rumors of _what_? Sephiroth is aware of the speculation regarding SOLDIER's semen (he'd been outright asked about his own from drunkards during ShinRa's odious balls), but not that Strife is subject to such. . . speculation.

"Strife's mako levels are very high," says Tseng, chuckling. "Of that, there's no doubt."

"We're quite fortunate that Strife is already an employee of ShinRa," says Lazard. "It saves us the trouble of recruiting him."

"Recruiting him?" asks Angeal. "Is he sick, or is he enhanced?"

"The answer to that question is rather complicated," says Lazard. "He's already agreed to be monitored for unexpected side effects and all other relevant documentation."

"So he isn't sick, then," says Angeal, stroking his chin. "Are we promoting him?"

"An abrupt promotion might trigger unpredictable rumors and foolishness among people desperate to get into the SOLDIER program," says Tseng.

"For now, we just wanted to make you aware of his condition," says Lazard. "We hope that you'll keep an eye on him."

"Does Strife know?" asks Sephiroth.

"Dr. Hollander is undoubtedly explaining the situation to him as we speak," says Tseng.

"So we can assume he'll be freaked out and confused, then," says Angeal.

"Zack Fair is with him," says Tseng, with a one-shouldered shrug. "Presumably _not_ having sex."

"Gentlemen, please," says Lazard. He's the only person Sephiroth knows with less patience for jokes than him. "Do we have an understanding?"

"We must monitor Strife, and otherwise, proceed as we have for the last week," says Sephiroth.

"Precisely," says Tseng, putting a hand over his heart. "Thank you again for coming, and please, enjoy the rest of your Sunday."


	12. Cryptogenic Mako Poisoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meme is born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna drop this chapter a few hours early since I'm already here.

The nurse tells Cloud that he has something they're calling Cryptogenic Mako Poisoning and that he has to come back for more testing in a few days. Cloud just nods, but Zack starts asking questions that Cloud should probably care more about. Like, is he going to need medication? (No.) Can he still work? (Yes.) Is it safe for him to be around other people? (Yes.) Is it safe for him to be alone? (Seems so.) What should he expect? (They don't know.) But Cloud doesn't care. He just wants things to go back to normal.

The nurse hands Cloud a contract before they leave. He would have signed it without even looking at it, like some kind of moron, but Zack grabs his hand and tells him to read it.

"Whatever," Cloud shrugs, still feeling hurt that Zack would turn him over to the scientists. Certainly one of Cloud's dumber grievances. What else is Zack supposed to _do?_

The contract is standard ShinRa stuff: Cloud will keep his mouth shut about his condition, follow the doctors' instructions, report any symptoms, and continue his duties. Sounds logical, but Cloud still waits for Zack's approving nod before scribbling his name where he's supposed to sign. The physical exam took a lot out of him; it's like he's in a fog. Another dumb thing: Hollander hadn’t hurt him at all.

He'd planned to go back to the barracks that night, but Zack shakes his head and says they should stick together.

Cloud nods wordlessly. He can't shake the certainty that he _needs_ to stay with Zack, that Zack will keep him safe, but also, that Zack might disappear if Cloud stops paying attention for as much as a second. That Zack will cease to exist if Cloud dares to look anywhere else. There was a field in the outskirts of Midgard, and Zack had promised to come back, but he hadn't. Cloud waited and waited and _waited_ , and Zack just didn't come back.

"I think I'm going crazy," Cloud tells him, when they're back at his apartment.

"It does feel like that, at first," says Zack, with a tense smile. "They don't leave you alone for like two days after you get your mako shots, and then a SOLDIER has to chaperone you for like another week to make sure you don't get a notion to jump off a bridge naked because you think you can fly or something." He ruffles Cloud's hair playfully. "Honestly, it's a miracle you managed to work through this thing."

"I don't feel high; I feel crazy," says Cloud.

Zack looks down. "It'll pass."

They can't be certain of that. There’s no point in saying it, though, so Cloud just looks away.

"Listen, I gotta shower," says Zack, scratching the back of his head. "Then we'll order food and figure out what to do."

"I can cook," says Cloud. Better occupy himself, or he'll get lost in his own head. "I'm broke, and as far as I know, they didn't give me a raise."

"'Kay," says Zack.

It occurs to him, while he makes a hearty sausage omelette with the sound of the shower as a calming chorus in the background, that he should probably send a message to Commander Rhapsodos. The infirmary has cleared him for duty, with specific orders about when to return, and Cloud's technically still supposed to be working. He pulls out a PHS and fires off a simple message asking Rhapsodos if he needs anything else, then considers his S.O.N. notifications - over three-thousand now - but opts for rolling his eyes and ignoring them. Two men died in front of Cloud mere hours ago, and he's more fixated on. . .

He doesn't know what he's fixated on.

Zack wanders back into the living room, black hair slicked back and limp from the shower, less than half an hour later. "Spike," he says, as he stares at his PHS screen, "Sephiroth follows you on S.O.N."

"Must be because Commander Rhapsodos followed me this morning," shrugs Cloud. "What happened to your shoulder?"

A pink, mottled scar is visible under the thin strap of Zack's white wife beater. Either it'd been covered by the standard SOLDIER tank top, or Cloud had been so out of it that he hadn't noticed.

"Grand Horn fuck up; already practically healed," says Zack, rolling his shoulder. "Have you been _sparring_ with Sephiroth? Like, more than once?"

"I told him I wanted to keep training so I could take the SOLDIER exam, and he said he'd handle it so I don't have to interrupt Lt. Armstrong's class," says Cloud, cringing. He'd figured the SOLDIERs wouldn't make a big deal of it after the first spar. "He's only tutored me three times."

"Only Angeal and Rhapsodos spar with Sephiroth," says Zack, sitting by the counter. "The whole world flipped on its head last week."

"We don't spar! I haven't managed to land a single hit on him; he's probably bored as fuck." Cloud knows he's blushing. He just _knows_. "They're gonna say. . . what they say about you. Right?"

"You mean that he's banging you?" Zack shrugs. "They're already saying that."

"Oh, please kill me." Cloud covers his face with his hands. They're probably saying that _to_ Sephiroth. "I wanna die."

"They won't dare say it directly to him, Spike," says Zack, like he can read Cloud’s mind. Maybe he can.

"But he's gonna hear about it anyway, assuming he hasn't already," says Cloud. "This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"Really?" says Zack. "The mako poisoning isn't a little bit worse?"

Cloud glares at the teasing, then goes for a plate. The least he could do to pay Zack back is keep him well-fed. Left to his own devices, Zack will gorge himself on candy and Hypers, and then pass out.

“He liked your egg post,” says Zack, still scrolling down his PHS screen as Cloud pushes a plate of food towards him.

“What?”

“Sephiroth liked your egg post.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” says Cloud, with a pained sigh.

Zack’s mako-bright eyes turn to him. “Alright,” he says, putting the PHS down. “We can jump right to business.”

Cloud looks down at his hands.

“What are whispers?” asks Zack.

“What?” Cloud sneaks a look at Zack’s face, then looks back down at his hands to avoid Zack’s serious expression. “You mean like. . . gossip and stuff?”

“You told me earlier that ‘whispers’ attacked Johnson because he tried to hurt you,” says Zack. “What did you mean?”

“I have no idea,” admits Cloud. “Honestly, zero fucking clue.”

Zack sighs, then picks up the fork. “That’s a problem,” he says, taking a mouthful. “You know I’ll walk on burning coals for you, Spike, you know that. But if you’re dangerous to other people, then I have to take it into consideration.”

“But I’m not. . .” Cloud sounds uncertain to his own ears.

“Not on purpose, I know,” says Zack. “You don’t have a mean bone in you, but if the mako is giving you some strange powers, you might hurt someone accidentally.”

“You think I killed Jonhson?” asks Cloud.

Zack shrugs, swallows. “Maybe. I don’t want you feeling raw about it, okay? If that dick got his buddies and tried to pick on you, and then it turned out he bit off more than he could chew, then I’m not about to lose any sleep over it. And you shouldn’t, either.”

“He didn’t deserve to die,” says Cloud.

“And you don’t deserve to carry the guilt of it, but now you will, at least for a little bit,” says Zack, shrugging. “Life is unfair; best not to dwell on it."

Cloud nods. It’s true. Fuck, but is that true. He looks around the apartment, pausing when his gaze catches Aerith’s red orchid, lovely and bright by Zack’s window. Cloud put it there last night, certain that Zack would love it. There’s no reason to expect that, though. Zack might be a small town boy, but he’s not particularly interested in flowers, or nature in general. Cloud walks around the counter, drawn by the glistening petals of the orchid. It isn’t about the flower’s beauty, not really.

“Cloud?” asks Zack.

“Do you know a girl named Aerith?” asks Cloud.

“No,” says Zack. “Why do you ask?”

“You should know her,” says Cloud.

“Sure. Introduce me after we have this mako poisoning under control,” says Zack. “Truth is, it’s not looking too bad right now. I mean, you've been working and apparently sparring with Sephiroth all week, so you’re probably gonna pull through.”

“I wish I could believe that,” says Cloud, turning away from the orchid. “But I don’t. I feel like something horrible is coming.”

“You’re an anxious person to begin with, and the mako gets your emotions out of whack,” dismisses Zack. “It’ll pass.”

“No, it won’t.” Cloud walks closer. “I _know_ things that don’t make sense. Like you and Aerith are together, and Master Zangan taught Tifa martial arts, and we were married, and then Sephiroth--”

“Cloud?” Zack gets up, puts the fork and grabs Cloud’s shoulders.

“He’s going to kill us all,” whispers Cloud.

“Who?”

"Sephiroth!" He has to get Zack to understand, and he wouldn't because it'd been ShinRa and Rhapsodos who'd gotten him in the end, hadn't it? "No matter what I do, Sephiroth always comes back."

"Comes back from where?" asks Zack. "Is he. . . bothering you or something?"

"Yes!"

"What's he doing?" demands Zack, grip tightening.

"He's--" Cloud stops. "I mean. He's. . . nice?"

"Cloud." Zack takes a deep breath. "Is General Sephiroth being. . . inappropriate? With you. Which doesn't doesn't sound like him, I gotta admit, but I guess he would think he can get away with it."

"I don't mean he's a creep!" yells Cloud. Although, a part of him suspects that Sephiroth is one deep down, nevermind that he has zero evidence for it. "Is everyone's head in the gutter?"

"My head?" Zack throws up his hands. "You tell me he's 'bothering' you, but you won't say how, and you're literally the only cadet he's ever shown interest in, and S.O.N. says you guys can't stop staring at each other--"

"That's not true; I don't _stare_ at him." Cloud feels like his head is going to explode. "I just want him to leave me alone."

"But Cloud," Zack says, slowly, "he's your boss. If you tell me what the problem is, I might be able to to work something out with Angeal."

"No!" Cloud yells, running closer to Zack and grabbing him by the collar of his wife beater. "Don't say anything to the Firsts, please? Forget I said anything about Sephiroth, okay? He's nice; he's not doing anything bad to me. It's just the mako making me crazy. I don't know why I hate him; I just do."

"I was planning to ask Angeal about the mako poisoning," says Zack.

"No, we can't tell them."

"I guarantee they're gonna hear about it regardless," says Zack. “From the Science Department or the Turks.”

"But we don't have to say that I'm crazy," insists Cloud. "And Sephiroth has been really good to me, and I’ll feel like shit if he hears I'm like. . . I don't even know. Convinced _he's_ the problem, even though he hasn't done anything to me?"

"Or he’ll get that it's crazy mako side effects you can't control," says Zack, laying his hands over Cloud's fists. "Angeal says he's a pretty decent guy, and no one knows more about mako side effects than him."

"No, I don't want him to know," insists Cloud.

"Okay, but we still need to do something about this,” says Zack.

"Then let's meet Aerith!"

Zack sighs, then pulls Cloud into a loose hug. Ignoring an initial flash of impatience, Cloud lets himself sag against him. He’s lucky Zack is so patient, or he might have been dragged to the loony bin already.

“We can visit this Aerith,” says Zack.

“She’s gonna be at an old church in the slums,” says Cloud, determined not to examine how he knows that too closely.

“Okay,” says Zack. “In the meantime, I wanna teach you about breathing exercises, and how to combat depersonalization, and how to recognize panic attacks.”

“Zack, I’ve been to the Stress Management Seminars in the SOLDIER program.”

“The ones for cadets, sure.” Zack tugs at the hair on the back of Cloud’s head, guides him to look up. “But I’m betting your senses are getting overwhelmed. My eyes look different, don’t they?”

“Not really?” says Cloud, staring at the glowing flecks of mako threading through Zack’s blue irises.

“What color are they?” asks Zack.

“Blue.”

“Just blue?”

“You don’t have to fish for compliments,” mumbles Cloud. But he does stand on the tips of his toes, reaching up to hold Zack’s face in place, and stares directly into his eyes. A little smile tugs at the corners of Zack’s mouth. “I guess they’re more like bluish-green, with a faint golden ring on the outer edge.”

“Most people can’t see that,” says Zack. “The mako glow obscures all the details.”

Cloud’s PHS vibrates on the counter, startling them. Startling Cloud, at least, who notices how very close they are. He blushes, pushes away awkwardly, and rushes back to the counter. “It’s Commander Rhapsodos,” he mumbles, glancing at the message. “He says I’m free for the rest of the day.”

“Good,” says Zack. “Gives us enough time to head out, get our minds off things.”

“Yeah,” says Cloud. “Let me get out of my uniform.”

* * *

Zack can say, and mean with every bone in his body, that he intended to have a frank conversation with Cloud about his feelings. He might have pegged it on his close encounter with the Grand Horn, though that had been more stupid than dangerous - the monster had gored him on the way down, after all, _after_ Zack had already defeated it - but it would have had a certain poetic edge to it. Confessing to his love after a near-death experience had a classic ring. Then he comes back to find Cloud involved with the Firsts, mako poisoned/enhanced, blue eyes stained with the neon glow of the Lifestream, staring off into space and talking about people Zack has never heard of and being married to a girl from his hometown that he’d only mentioned in passing before. To say nothing of whatever happened at the bike shop. For once, Zack is praying that most of that is the usual S.O.N. exaggeration.

Not exactly the best time to dump his feelings at Cloud’s feet, to put it mildly.

No, what Cloud needs right now is a friend, someone to get him through at least until he has his new. . . condition under control. It’s difficult to find true friends in Midgard, the shining metropolis where everyone is out for themselves. Cloud has Kunsel (who, kind and loyal as he is, is about as powerless as Cloud himself) and Zack. Everyone else would keep their heads down while ShinRa does what it will. Or outright sell Cloud out.

“I don’t have any money,” Cloud complains as he walks out of the bathroom, dressed in a yellow t-shirt and plain, dark green cargo pants.

“You don’t really need a lot of it in the slums,” says Zack, though that’s not true. Money greases the gears everywhere. “You could probably ask for a raise, you know.”

“I can’t,” says Cloud. “If anything, I’m doing less work now.”

That’s likely false, but it’s not the best time to tease Cloud. He’s already stressed out enough, and Zack wants to have some positive things to say when it’s time to go over things with Angeal. His mentor is a fair man and will not back them up if it turns out that Cloud is not able to control whatever powers the mako has given to him. Hopefully, it’s none, and whatever black stuff killed Johnson is not directly connected to Cloud at all.

 _Don’t get your hopes up too high._ Zack hates how his inner voice sounds so much like his dead brother sometimes. With a look at Cloud’s orchid, he leads Cloud out of the apartment.

The elevator ride is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Zack idly scrolls down all the speculation on S.O.N. while Cloud stands beside him, arms crossed but relaxed. It seems that the fanclubs have reached _Zack's_ account, through all the posts where Zack tagged Cloud. Ironic, that Zack might achieve S.O.N. notoriety riding on Cloud's coattails. Unlike Cloud and Kunsel, he actually uses his real name (obviously not where he pathetically whines about his feelings), so he gets a rather alarming number of questions from the fan accounts. Cloud is going to freak once he gets around to playing on S.O.N. There's already a full conspiracy theory brewing about him being a ShinRa bastard, based solely on the fact that Cloud is a pretty blue-eyed blond. Hilarious.

The elevator stops on the twenty-seventh floor. Zack is not surprised when Roche steps onto the elevator, but his jaw almost drops after Roche shoots him a quick nod and then turns to Cloud with a wide smile.

"Little speed demon!" says Roche.

"Oh, hi," says Cloud, absentmindedly. Then his eyes widen. "Oh shit, I forgot about our thing."

"What?" says Zack.

"I was supposed to meet Roche so I could try out his bike today, if I finished early with Commander Rhapsodos," says Cloud, slapping his forehead. "Sorry, man!"

"What?" repeats Zack.

"I can't go now," Cloud says to Roche, shoulders sagging. "Zack's back, and I told him I'd go out with him. I didn't know he'd be back from his mission so soon. Zack, this is Roche."

"We've met," says Zack.

"Hi, Zack!" Roche says, anyway.

"Hi, Edmund!" says Zack, with an exaggerated smile. They are most definitely not on a first name basis, and even if they were, Roche doesn't like his.

"Maybe I can join you guys," says Roche.

"No, you can't," says Zack, before Cloud can obliviously invite him along. "Cloud and I have personal matters to attend to."

"Well, that's too bad," says Roche. "Isn't it, my speed demon?"

Zack gives him a sideways look, then puts an arm around Cloud's shoulders, because he knows Cloud will lean into him, even if he goes on to chat with Roche about dumb motorcycle stuff. Roche asks about the thing at the bike store, and Cloud swears that it was nothing and Rhapsodos handled it. How they got to the pet name stage. . . Well, he'll make sure to ask Cloud once things settle down.

"Bye, little speed demon," Roche tells Cloud, lifting a hand as though going to ruffle Cloud's hair, nevermind that Zack still has his arm around him.

Roche catches Zack's look, and Zack swears to Odin he’ll. . . do something inadvisable. He is in no mood for this. Thankfully, Roche settles for a thumbs up, sparing Zack from making himself look like a complete psycho.

"See ya," says Cloud.

Roche bows, like Cloud just got up and clapped at him or something. He flicks a little blond cowlick that makes his mullet look ridiculous and waves as he turns around.

"He lets me use the SOLDIER simulator sometimes," says Cloud, after he turns a corner.

"I'm gonna kill him," says Zack, herding Cloud to the parking garage. Those simulators are dangerous even for SOLDIERs.

"Only the bike riding one," says Cloud. "He says the combat sims aren't for unenhanced people."

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day," says Zack, checking his own bike. "You got your ID?"

"Yeah," says Cloud, hopping behind Zack on the motorcycle with an eager little smile.

"Gotta get you a helmet," mumbles Zack, smiling as Cloud makes himself comfortable at his back.


	13. The Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud visits Aerith and Tseng gets a report.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting to the point where I'm editing and adding stuff through work-exhaustion brain fog, so get ready for less sense-making lol

Zack might not spend all his time figuring out bikes and replacing his personality with engine maintenance trivia, but he does appreciate the rush of speeding through Midgard's highways. Especially with Cloud clinging to his back, laughing with excitement when Zack uses the ramps to jump the traffic. He watches his speed this time, mindful of whatever might have been done to Cloud's senses.

"Why're you going so slow?" Cloud yells over the roar of the bike engine.

Not much, apparently. Zack smirks to himself and accelerates. He takes the long way down to the slums, relieved that Cloud can still indulge in the simple pleasure of a speed high. The mako can’t have affected him that much.

"Maybe we should message Kunsel to meet us at the station or something!" Cloud yells, when Zack slows down for the automatic QR checkpoint before entering the lower plates.

"Nah, I'll have to watch you both down there," says Zack. "Let me show you guys the ropes one at a time."

It's only a slight exaggeration - the slums are nowhere near the wretched hive that the plate citizens make it out to be, but Kunsel would probably land himself in Wall Market, knee deep in a feud with Don Corneo himself. Mostly, he wants to spend a good amount of time with Cloud so he can assess the mako damage. He has little hope of finding the girl who gave Cloud the orchid - Zack has no doubts that she's real (Kunsel had whined to him via S.O.N. message that Cloud couldn't get some ice cream without getting people to fall in love with him), but he assumes it was just a girl hitting on him. Or one of Midgar's opportunists looking to take advantage of someone they mistook for a mako junkie.

Zack parks his bike by a pair of ShinRa guards and gives them informal orders to watch for thieves. Sometimes, he parks some ways off in case some enterprising young orphans try and score a brand new ride or just some mechanical upgrades (no need to land them in prison when Zack can easily buy a new motorcycle), but he's not about to deal with stolen property reports while Cloud is sick.

"Wow," Cloud says after he hops off the bike, looking up at the plates.

"The steel sky," says Zack.

Suddenly, Cloud winces and holds his head.

"You okay?" asks Zack, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Aerith used to say that," says Cloud.

"That's what people call it down here," says Zack.

"She missed it," says Cloud.

"That'd be new." Zack looks up at the plate. Without the mako augmenting his vision, he wouldn't notice the intricate detail in the steel, just a black slab of metal blocking the sun. "Most people hate the plates."

"She hated the sky," whispers Cloud.

"You okay to go on?" asks Zack. The slums grime can be overwhelming to people with enhanced senses - the stink of garbage and mako refuse seeps into people's pores, clogs up the air itself.

"No," says Cloud. "I have to see this through."

There's probably no point in asking what Cloud means, so Zack nods and lets him take the lead. Without asking for directions, Cloud starts on the way to the one church in the slums. A few alleyways beyond the train station, he's wondering if Cloud hasn't been down here before. He doesn't walk around confused and disoriented, takes the narrower passageways with less visibility, climbing slabs of fallen concrete and squeezing under discarded slabs of metal. The natives look at them with obvious resentment and suspicion, but Cloud either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Oblivious in more ways than one, as usual.

Zack watches him carefully for any signs of instability, but if anything, he seems more confident than usual. He's not comfortable in crowds, not even above the plates, and often stays close to Zack even if all they're doing is watching a movie on the big screen. At one point, he runs into a young guy barging through the alleyway, and instead of apologizing, Cloud stares the dude down and keeps walking. It's the way things go in this part of the slums, but how does Cloud know that?

When Cloud tries to bypass Sector 5 and take a shortcut through the rooftops of an abandoned would-be suburb, Zack finally grabs his arms.

"There are monsters that way."

"I can take them," says Cloud, blue eyes narrowed.

"You're unarmed." And also has zero experience in actual combat, but that should go without saying.

Cloud glares, and it would be cute if he wasn’t about to rush off into Midgard’s unsecured areas.

“We can get you a weapon next time,” says Zack.

“Okay,” says Cloud, “but we gotta watch out for the Turks.”

“Do we?” asks Zack.

“They’re watching Aerith.”

If so, then she’s not just a random slum girl.

Zack takes the lead and cuts through the outskirts of Sector Five. There are probably faster routes, but Zack has the most history with the area. Last month, he cleared a nest of small dragons in exchange for a rusted iron bangle that he’d taken mostly so the section’s neighborhood watch didn’t get too suspicious of his generosity. He tries to keep to himself as they pass through, but a pair of young orphans recognizes Zack. They aren’t old enough to read the tense atmosphere, so they run to Zack, hoping for some food. Or just some positive attention from the cool adult who played with them last time he visited.

“We have a new hideout!” the blond little girl tells Zack, while her brother stays a couple of steps back in an attempt to look a little less eager.

“That’s nice,” says Zack, ruffling her hair. He feels a little bad that he doesn’t remember their names. “I’d love to see it, but I don’t have time today.”

“What, you didn’t come to see us?” asks the little girl.

Zack smiles sadly. “I have another friend who needs a hand.”

“Oh.” The girls peers behind Zack, where Cloud is waiting.

“But I have some change on me,” says Zack. He gives her enough gil so that she and her brother can eat for a couple of days, but not so much that they’ll become a target for junkies or any other type that might have sunk low enough to pick on little kids. One of these days, he’ll stop by the little school in Sector Five and give a decent amount to their school teacher, who has some degree of protection from the neighborhood watch and a sense of budgeting.

“Come on,” Zack says to Cloud, after he waves the kids off. But he stares after them, gut clenching at the sight of their thin arms and bowed legs. Hungry children in the richest city on the Planet. Zack wishes more people gave a shit. He turns around, then frowns at the strange way Cloud is frowning at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Things really might’ve been different if you’d survived,” says Cloud.

“Okay, it’s just the mako,” says Zack. It sounds weak to his own ears. “Come on.”

“No, wait,” says Cloud, frowning. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Okay,” says Zack.

“Whatever happens to me, you can’t let them kill you,” says Cloud.

“It’s not going to get that bad,” says Zack. “Mako poisoning gets better as long as you stop using--”

“Listen to me,” insists Cloud with shining mako eyes, grabbing Zack’s shoulders. “If it ever comes down to it and you have to leave me behind to save yourself, you have to do it. Cut your losses and run. I’m not worth what happened to you.”

“Nothing’s happened to me that I didn’t volunteer for,” says Zack.

Cloud blinks. “What do you mean?”

It happened again. “Shit.” It looks like Cloud had another weird episode.

“I said something weird again, didn’t I?” says Cloud, taking a careful step back.

“Let’s focus on the positive,” says Zack. “Even at your weirdest, you don’t get violent. And you come out of it pretty quickly. Mildest case of mako mindfuck I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I don’t think that’s what this is,” says Cloud. “I remember you dying, Zack. I was supposed to be your living legacy.”

“Buddy, that doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

“Cut yourself a break, man,” says Cloud. “You were probably having, like, a death seizure or something.”

Zack laughs, loud enough that a group of people a few feet away from them glance their way. They really shouldn’t be discussing Cloud’s weird psych symptoms out in public, where anyone might be listening.

“Let’s go find your Aerith,” says Zack.

Who knows? It might better if she can confirm, or at least clarify, some of the nonsense that Cloud is babbling about. At the moment, Zack will be grateful for any indication that Cloud isn’t completely losing his mind.

* * *

Aerith prefers the noise of a crowd to the overwhelming whispers of the Planet. Most days, anyway. Sometimes, the Planet’s screams are too overwhelming, and Aerith needs a degree of privacy so she can curl up in peace, wait out the spasms that take over the Lifestream. Once, Aerith slipped on a puddle of oil and pulled something in her back that gave her sudden shooting pains down her left leg if she moved a certain way. It’d gone on for weeks after she thought the injury had healed, sudden spasms that left her gasping, breathless with pain. The voice of the Lifestream is very much like those spasms, but. . . more. The voice takes over Aerith’s entire body, her very heartbeat. It’s better where there are flowers, though Aerith doesn’t know if it has anything to do with nature itself or just her own affinity for their simple beauty.

Lately, Aerith has needed to spend even more time in her gardens, both in her church and around her house. There’s an alien presence in the Lifestream, and not the one the Planet has been struggling against for as long as Aerith can remember. That one’s easy enough to understand and contain: a thoughtless parasite following its nature, destroying things because that’s what it does, not because of overwhelming resentment. Now, there’s something else, something that has awakened creatures beyond their own little speck of dust in the star ocean. Aerith sees posters of ShinRa’s great Silver General and shivers, though she can’t figure out what _he_ has to do with anything. The Planet is not fond of SOLDIERs in general, but none trigger as much disgust as him.

She knows that Cloud will visit her soon, perhaps that very day. The Lifestream’s concept of “time” is beyond what the human mind can comprehend, but Aerith has been getting a sense of impatience from it. Cloud must still be fighting it, has been doing it for over a week now. But he had known her, and so he must be close to the end of his rope. Aerith really hopes he won’t go mad. Again.

He arrives at the church while she’s tending to her yellow irises, the whispers of the Lifestream pulsing in her mind. Aerith wants to make a good impression - all her life, she’s wished for a friend who can hear the Planet like she does - but it’s been a difficult week full of unimaginable screams from the Lifestream. Even her mother’s presence is too much.

A glance to her side confirms that she isn’t confused by a memory-premonition. She sees the front of Cloud’s combat boots right beside the bed of flowers and another pair of black boots about a foot beyond. Briefly, she’s disappointed that Cloud didn’t come alone.

“Anyway,” says a voice that Aerith doesn’t recognize, “you must be Aerith.”

She stands up, blinking harshly.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” continues the stranger. He has a strong, firm voice that Aerith might have enjoyed listening to under other circumstances.

“Hi, Cloud,” she says.

“You don’t recognize him,” says Cloud. “You don’t recognize each other.”

Aerith looks past Cloud’s blond spikes. Then she smiles at Zack’s suspicious look, framed by the church’s stained window. “This must be Zack Fair.”

“Yeah,” says Cloud, as Zack steps around him, taking care to avoid stepping on the flowers (good boy), to take a closer look at Aerith.

“Look at how handsome you are,” Aerith tells him. It’s true enough, and people tend to like compliments.

“And you’re beautiful,” says Zack, with a little smirk. “All three of us should look into modeling once we sort out how exactly we know each other.”

“Do you remember too?” asks Aerith, trying not to get excited.

“No,” says Cloud. “I’m pretty sure it’s just me. And, you know. . . _him_.”

“Maybe not him, either,” says Aerith.

“How can I make it stop?” asks Cloud.

“I don’t know,” says Aerith. “Maybe we can’t. Maybe all we can do is learn to live with it.”

“So who’s your mako dealer?” asks Zack.

Aerith giggles and walks towards the pews. Handsome or not, she wishes Cloud hadn’t brought Zack Fair. They need to have a very difficult conversation, and having a person who can’t hear the Lifestream isn’t going to make it easier.

“I’m not here to point fingers or get anyone in trouble,” says Zack, “but it might help you guys if the doctors can take a look at whatever you two are huffing.”

“I’m not huffing mako, Zack,” says Cloud. “Don’t you think Hollander would have noticed if I had?”

“Not necessarily,” says Zack. “He’s supposed to be the shittier of the ShinRa docs. Skills-wise, I mean. Personality-wise, it’s a tie, and they both lose.”

Cloud grunts before coming closer to Aerith and sitting beside her. “Did it really happen? All the stuff I’m. . . remembering? Seeing?”

“Probably,” says Aerith. “I don’t think it happened to us, but it definitely happened to someone.”

“But then it’s not inevitable,” says Cloud.

“The Whispers want to make it so,” says Aerith. “They don’t like interference, and _he_ won’t play his part quietly.”

“You mean Sephiroth,” says Cloud.

“Oh, this is such a shitshow,” says Zack, holding his face with his hand.

“You shouldn’t have come out and said things to him,” says Aerith, sighing. “He’s not ready.” How many friends had Aerith lost because no one wants to deal with deluded ramblings?

“Maybe it’s better if he gets tired of me,” says Cloud.

“I wouldn’t.” Zack sighs, then comes forward and kneels in front of Cloud and takes a hold of his hands like a knight in a novel. “I’m not going to get tired of you just because you got sick.”

“I know,” says Cloud. “But you really should.”

“You two are really sweet,” says Aerith, beaming when Zack shoots her a dirty look. “I didn’t hook him on mako, if that’s what you’re worried about. Look at my eyes.” She gestures at him to come closer. “Clear and all-natural, like water from a mountain spring.”

Zack actually does lean closer to stare directly into her eyes, so she gets to see the neon light of mako burning behind his iris. Aerith shivers. She has no idea how ShinRa has convinced people that such a strange glow is beautiful. Perhaps they are, from afar.

“Not every dealer samples their product,” says Zack, eerie eyes narrowed. “In fact, the successful ones never do.”

Great. Aerith doesn’t think Zack Fair is a threat to her - at least, not the one in her new memories - but this _isn’t_ the Zack Fair from her new memories. This one is visibly concerned about Cloud and trying to figure out if she’s responsible for his condition. She might be able to confuse him very briefly with her magic, but SOLDIERs know how to combat confusion spells, and then what? She has no hope of outrunning a SOLDIER.

“Zack, I told you I’m not sniffing mako fumes.” Cloud pulls lightly on a few locks of Zack’s hair. “Wouldn’t I be going through withdrawal by now?”

“I don’t know,” says Zack. “Maybe this is what mako withdrawal looks like for you.”

“It’s been, like, a week,” argues Cloud. “You think I went full junkie in a week?”

“Then what’s your explanation for all this?”

“It’s not mako,” says Aerith. “Not directly, anyway.”

“Then what is it?” demands Zack.

Aerith shrugs. She doesn’t know how to explain that, without mako, most people can’t hear the voice of the Lifestream, much less see the faint tendrils of fate manifesting as Whispers. Cloud might have understood, somewhat instinctively, without the need for words. Not with him so fixated on his guardian angel, and not with the other one curled up in shame inside Cloud’s subconscious.

“Why are you being so mean to her?” asks Cloud. “Don’t you remember who she is?”

“No!” says Zack. “I don’t know this person.”

Cloud grunts impatiently. “Aerith, what should we do?”

“I don’t know,” says Aerith.

“But. . .” Cloud looks down, eyes glistening. “I thought you’d know what to do.”

“I thought _you’d_ know what to do,” says Aerith. “The Planet says you’re their Champion.”

“But I’m nobody,” protests Cloud.

“But there’s another you who defeated The Calamity,” says Aerith.

“Fuck me, this is such a ridiculous waste of time,” says Zack, standing up to run his hands through his hair.

Aerith ignores him and tries to get Cloud’s attention. “You’ll get used to the voices, in time.”

"I just want it to stop." He looks down, then stares at Zack's back. "I don't want those things to happen."

"That might not be up to us," says Aerith, squeezing his hand before standing up. "I need to get back home."

"Okay," says Cloud.

"Come back and visit whenever, okay?"

"Okay," nods Cloud.

She doesn't have to say that next time, he should come alone.

* * *

If he were free to choose his own path, Tseng would retire to a cabin in the mountains and dedicate the rest of his days to cultivating exotic plants. Foxglove and jade vines framed by black orchids, perhaps. They thrive in entirely different environments, but that would be part of the challenge.

“Boss, you listening?” asks Reno, waving a hand in front of his face.

“I try not to, when you start your rambles,” says Tseng.

Reno crosses his arms over his jacket - which he has arranged in the trashiest way imaginable, almost like something a cheap stripper would wear, not that Tseng will reward his antics with a reaction - and huffs.

“A pair of SOLDIERs went to visit your girl at her church,” says Reno. “Just thought you’d appreciate a personal note to this report, is all.”

“Aerith is not ‘my girl’,” says Tseng.

Reno snorts. Beside him, Rude shifts nervously and straightens his shades.

“You’re dismissed,” says Tseng.

If thinking that he has some inane romantic designs on Aerith motivates them to alert him about anything unusual regarding her, then so be it. He doesn’t bother to reprimand them when Reno starts whispering gossip to Rude before the door to his office is closed. They are his newest Turks, and he’s trying a new approach with them. Keeping tabs on Aerith is a low-risk, low-stake mission - perfect for observing the benefits of a more relaxed management style. He needs a little more spontaneity and innovation for the Turks, or they’ll end up as bright and independent as ground troopers.

The strategy seems to be paying off already. They’d tied the strange SOLDIER cadet to the last Ancient.

Tseng sighs and stands up. He walks to his office window to gaze down at Midgard, Gaia’s shining metropolis. It’s not a beautiful place, not even at night. But it has purpose, which is more than can be said for almost every other place in the world. It’s more than can be said of Wutai. Though Tseng could easily win an office in the top floors, a corner office facing the star ocean, he prefers staying closer to the ground. It’s where all the significant action is, where he needs to be if he wants to be aware of who comes in and out of ShinRa Headquarters.

Without taking his eyes off the congested traffic, Tseng dials Sephiroth directly.

“I have a liaison now,” is Sephiroth’s answer.

“Allow me to express my deepest gratitude that you answered anyway,” says Tseng.

“I won’t next time.”

“Duly noted,” says Tseng. Below, a sleek red vehicle - latest model - rear-ends a food delivery truck. It’s not a serious accident, just bad enough for two people to get out of their vehicles and start yelling at each other. “My call is regarding Strife, actually.”

A pause. “What about him?”

“His new condition behooves us all to be more aware of his social circle,” says Tseng. Then leaves the thought hanging, hoping that Sephiroth will be compelled to fill in any blanks.

“Okay,” says Sephiroth.

Tseng turns away from the window as the truck driver throws the first punch, trying not to smile. Sephiroth does not mean to challenge him; the man is simply too socially awkward to understand indirect questions.

“What do you know of Strife’s social circle?”

“Very little,” says Sephiroth. “He’s from Nibelheim, and he’s friends with SOLDIER Zack Fair and Cadet Kunsel.”

“And women?” asks Tseng, as he sits down in front of his computer.

“What about them?” Sephiroth’s confusion is obvious.

“Has Strife mentioned any women?”

“Why would he?” demands Sephiroth.

“Sometimes, attractive young men enjoy attention from the fairer sex,” says Tseng, deliberately misunderstanding the question.

“I know that Strife is beautiful,” says Sephiroth, impatiently (and Tseng very much hopes that he said that out loud where multiple people can hear him). “I meant, why would he talk about his women with me, of all people?”

“I assumed that you spend a great deal of time with him,” says Tseng.

“I do, but we don’t talk about women,” says Sephiroth. “You are aware that I have a job? Granted, it’s very boring most of the time, but it still requires attention.”

“Of course,” says Tseng, growing tired of all the inept and passive-aggressive complaints. “But I must persist in this tedious line of questioning. Has he mentioned a girl named Aerith?”

Sephiroth doesn’t answer right away, and Tseng expected him to. His fingers pause over his keyboard, and he glares at the blinking cursor next to his unfinished password. “General?”

“I. . .” The line remains silent.

“Has Strife mentioned the name?” says Tseng, fighting an urge to lean forward, even though Sephiroth can’t see him.

“No,” says Sephiroth. “We don’t talk about. . . Who is she?”

“That’s not something that SOLDIER needs to concern itself with,” says Tseng, finishing his password and opening his computer.

“Okay, but I. . .” Sephiroth trails off again.

Tseng opens Aerith’s file, mentally cursing himself for not taking the elevator and having this conversation in person. He can’t assess whether Sephiroth is as distressed as he suddenly sounds (much less _why_ ), or if he’s just distracted.

“General?” says Tseng.

“I have to go,” says Sephiroth. He hangs up before Tseng can challenge him.

“Goddamn it,” breathes Tseng, hand curling into a fist.

Tseng had only called Sephiroth because he’d been sure that the man would know nothing. Certainly not about Aerith. He’d expected Sephiroth to inadvertently share some insights into Strife.

He’d toyed with the possibility of alerting the great Silver General that little Cloud Strife had lied about the incident at the bike boutique, that he’d protected an ecoterrorist, but discarded the idea almost immediately. Cloud Strife is too much of an enigma. He has no connection to Avalanche, no mention of anything resembling the slightest sympathies - or even interest - in Planetology or mako engineering in his social circle or on S.O.N., and then he’d gone and risked his very life to protect an ecoterrorist who had almost shot him mere moments prior.

Tseng had questioned the man personally after his capture, and he’d had no idea who Strife was. In fact, he’d spat bloody spittle at being questioned regarding the bootlicker who’d sicced one of ShinRa’s abominable, inhuman SOLDIER attack dogs on his friends.

Which proves exactly nothing.

If not for the disaster with the so-called “mako poisoning”, Tseng would have dragged Strife to an interrogation room personally. But the mako poisoning is a factor, and perhaps, it has saved Tseng the embarrassment of acting rashly. Either Strife is really just a mako-addled country bumpkin with a bit of cleverness and resilience, or he’s the best spy ShinRa has ever encountered. If it’s the latter, then Tseng should not stumble into a verbal spar while knowing next to nothing about him. Not while he has Zack Fair wrapped around his little finger, and ShinRa’s First Class SOLDIERs well on the way there.

Now, there’s the issue of Sephiroth knowing Aerith’s name. An unrelated complication, if it can even be called that.

Tseng opens Aerith’s file, cross-references it with Sephiroth’s code name, and. . . yes. At least for a short time, they’d been housed in the same facility. During Sephiroth’s early teen years, too, when the most painful of Hojo’s experiments had taken place. They might have met then, which would lend a degree of plausibility to a potential negative reaction from Sephiroth at the mention of her name.

If nothing else comes of the conversation, Tseng can forget the incident. Sephiroth won’t, but he also won’t do anything about it. The man is absolutely unaware of the power he wields outside a battlefield.

Regardless, there isn’t much to do about it now. Tseng sends a message to Rude, instructing him to keep a close eye on Aerith, to use more Turks if necessary. In the meantime, he has more urgent matters to attend to.


	14. Eggpocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna to make a joke here, but it would spoil the chapter so I will refrain.

Sephiroth does not know why the name “Aerith” pierces through him with such intensity. All at once, he wants to hide, to fight, to find her and force her to. . . what? There’s nothing Sephiroth wants, no long-term mission to complete, nothing. His life is utterly devoid of urgency. It’s like he’s forgotten something, but he does not know _what_ he has forgotten, just that it’s extremely important. That if he doesn’t remember it, something awful will happen.

Whoever she is, she has connections with the Turks - with _Tseng_ \- so getting involved would lead only to trouble. The only person Sephiroth avoids more than the Turks is Hojo.

Still, he cannot shake the name as he goes through his day. More than once, he eyes his computer’s search bar with intentions to spell out her name, which he’s not sure that he knows how to do to begin with. And the Turks are spying on his computer. They are spying on _everyone’s_ computer, but his more than most. Writing anything on S.O.N. is about equivalent to whispering it directly into Tseng’s ear.

Asking Strife is out of the question, and not just because it would be hideously embarrassing to pester the boy about his girlfriends. He knows, instinctively, that just saying the name in Strife’s presence will cause serious problems. How does he know that? Well, perhaps Sephiroth is going crazy. He’s performing his boring duties without trouble, though, so he plans to just. . . wait out what is happening. Something. He can’t make a decision without more information, and currently, he has no avenues to do so safely.

That night, Sephiroth spends hours doing something he associates with Genesis' dumb habits: he scrolls through S.O.N. comments, hopelessly overanalyzing everything he reads. No wonder Genesis is going crazy. For some unfathomable reason, people have started taking pictures of frying eggs and tagging him. Already, there's a gleeful news report about how General Sephiroth has triggered a hilarious trend of trying to find the "perfect" egg. Sephiroth reads the article in a state of utter disbelief - like he's been hit with a powerful Confuse spell - then he gets to the comments from people below the plate. Now they think that ShinRa's prized jewel is promoting the careless waste of food while they all struggle not to starve.

All because he'd liked a single post from Strife.

He almost comments to clarify that he most definitely does _not_ approve of unnecessary egg pictures, but he takes pride in being able to learn from others' mistakes. Genesis never feels better after indulging in an S.O.N. argument.

As he stares at a particularly dumb picture of a pair bikini-clad girls who shattered eggs all over themselves, he gets notified of a new follower. It's notable in the sea of notifications only because almost everyone in Midgard _already_ follows him.

Not Strife, apparently. And it took him a decent amount of time to follow Sephiroth back. Sephiroth looks at the notification for several long moments before grunting to himself and putting the PHS down. Strife has no reason to follow his account. He never posts anything. Which could be said about literally everyone else in Midgard. Everyone else on the blasted Planet.

A lifetime of inhuman discipline keeps Sephiroth from picking the PHS back up. He has far better things to do than scour the internet for speculative posts about Strife's mysterious background. There's nothing mysterious about it. He's a cadet from a small reactor town, one of literally hundreds. If he fails to become a SOLDIER, then he will be one of thousands of infantrymen. Well, one with some form of mako enhancements that Sephiroth had failed to notice because he is that much of a monster, apparently.

He's ruminating about pointless things. S.O.N. gossip will not distract him.

_It distracted you from the flower girl._

Sephiroth refuses to follow that train of thought. He snuffs it out like it’s a Malrboro a second away from spewing noxious gas right into his face.

Only one thing ever does.

Sephiroth spends hours at his personal gym, going through katas until even his enhanced muscles ache. Until his thoughts have calmed down, though he can't quite get Strife out of his head.

If nothing else, he's relieved that Hollander is the doctor in charge of managing Strife's condition. Sephiroth will have to report on his performance weekly and he would hate having to interact with Hojo that often. And the thought of Hojo peering down at Strife as though he's a bug pinned to a morgue table makes Sephiroth's skin crawl.

He endures a night of fitful sleep and is reminded of the egg fiasco next morning while making himself an omelette. Frowning, he gives into the urge to check S.O.N. and finds thousands of notifications and private messages, as usual. Only one if from a mutual follower, and since Genesis and Angeal message him directly, there's only one person it could be from. Strife.

_Sorry about that egg thing. I'd delete the post, but my friends say it'd probably trigger an egg conspiracy. Besides, there's like a million screenshots of it by now._

Sephiroth smiles and likes the message. Then he feels the air leave his lungs in a rush, and then laughs at himself because it's a private message and so Midgard won't have a meltdown trying to decipher why he liked it. And _then_ he groans in utter mortification because, obviously, Strife has also endured a barrage of stupid egg pictures directed at him. He almost apologizes, but Genesis is right about one thing and one thing only: the less direct interaction on S.O.N., the better. Best to just get on with the day.

There's a meeting between the three of them and Lazard first thing in the morning. Much to Sephiroth's horror, he has to look down to hide his face behind his bangs when Strife arrives, cadet uniform neatly pressed and notebook in hand. If Genesis notices, and he will, Sephiroth will never live it down.

"How're you holding up, Strife?" Angeal asks, as they all sit down.

"Oh, okay. Thank you," says Strife. "It's weird, but I don't feel any different."

He doesn't look different either, except for the mako glowing in his eyes. Sephiroth had assumed that they're just that brilliant, but it's obvious that there's more to it than that now that he knows to look for it.

"How fortunate to be blessed by the Goddess by mere chance," says Genesis.

"Blessed by the Goddess?" asks Strife. "I got mako poisoned and might literally die."

"Gentlemen," says Lazard. "Let us focus on the matter at hand."

Mercifully, it gets the meeting back on track. Strife shouldn't take that tone with a superior officer, but also, he isn't wrong. Genesis can be so ridiculous, sometimes.

After the meeting, once Angeal has herded Genesis away, Sephiroth asks Strife to follow him back to his office. Strife looks taken aback (a common response whenever Sephiroth addresses anyone in the army). Instead of getting annoyed, Sephiroth almost apologizes for bothering him. How idiotic. Sephiroth frowns at himself mentally. He can't _bother_ his own subordinate by asking to speak with him during work hours.

"Strife," he says, the moment that the boy closes the door after himself. All at once, Sephiroth's desk between them feels like armor and like a hindrance. "How are you feeling?"

"Ah, I'm fine," says Strife, daring a brief look directly at Sephiroth. "I’ve gotta see Dr. Hollander's people twice a week starting Wednesday."

"So I was told," says Sephiroth.

Strife's gaze remains fixed around the vicinity of Sephiroth's chin.

Sephiroth sighs. "I also want to formally apologize if I pushed too hard during our training sessions."

Strife's eyes widen.

Before he can interrupt, Sephiroth pushes on. "I've only ever sparred with Genesis and Angeal, so I'm quite limited in my ability to recognize distress among non-enhanced partners." The apology sounds dry and inadequate to his own ears, but it's the best he managed to come up with inbetween obssessing over idiotic S.O.N. drama and stubbornly refusing to think about _Aerith_.

"Do you think you. . . uh, caused?" Strife swallows. "I mean, do you think I got mako poisoned from. . . you?"

"What?" asks Sephiroth, tilting his head. Strife doesn't sound angry, but his question implies that he thinks that his condition is somehow Sephiroth's fault. "You started showing signs of enhancement before we met."

"Right," says Strife. "That's true."

"It's my understanding that your condition is spontaneous," says Sephiroth.

"Cryptogenic," says Strife, "which, according to the internet, means that the doctors have no idea what's going on but don't want to admit it."

Sephiroth's lips twitch, but he knows better than to smile in front of anyone. "In any case, I want to give you the opportunity to bow out from our training sessions."

"Sure," nods Strife. "It must be really boring for you."

“That’s not what I said.” Why is it so hard for Sephiroth to express himself? “I said that you don’t have to spar with me if I make you uncomfortable.”

Strife looks down, tense as a bamboo stick under pressure. His arms twitch, drawing Sephiroth’s gaze to his small hands. Everything about him is petite to the point that even the mice in the Science Department doubted his strength.

“Sir, if I look strange, it’s because of the mako,” he says. “It’s not anything you’re doing, just. . . It all seems so clear and confusing at the same time?” Strife risks a questioning look his way.

“I understand,” says Sephiroth. Mako scrambles the senses, highlights nonsensical minutia and disregards obvious signs of danger. Once, one of Scarlett’s machines had all but crushed Sephiroth’s skull after a mako infusion. He’d been so fascinated by the flashing lights of its electric currents that he hadn’t seen the massive hammer coming down at him. “It will pass.”

“That’s what they keep telling me.”

“In any case, we will continue our training sessions until the situation changes, so long as you're amenable,” says Sephiroth. “You’re free to go.”

Strife bows and practically flees Sephiroth’s office.

Mako or not, he’s probably uneasy around Sephiroth. Most people are, or desperate to impress him, or both. Strife has never seemed interested in impressing him, so uneasy it is. But Sephiroth is used to that, so he puts the matter aside and gets to his tedious paperwork. President ShinRa is planning to push farther into the Northern Continent, perhaps to explore the ancient crater. Hojo has rambled about his fascination with all the wonders, possibly from outer space, that are hidden there. For that alone, Sephiroth prays that the plan falls through, but if it does, it won’t be because of SOLDIERs failing to hunt down the most dangerous fauna. He will draft the best SOLDIER teams for the upcoming missions.

He's not close with any SOLDIERs, but he reads every single report they file and listens attentively when Angeal describes their antics. Luxiere and Roche get along, for example, so he assigns them to the same squad as often as possible. Fair seems to get along with everyone and boasts natural leadership qualities, so Sephiroth already has him pegged to lead any sensitive mission that he or his fellow Firsts are too busy to handle themselves.

Building teams has always been a soothing exercise for Sephiroth. He works steadily under Midgard's afternoon sun streaming through his window, faster than usual since superfluous calls are no longer an issue. The one time his PHS vibrates, Sephiroth is actually curious rather than irritated.

"Sephiroth here," he says when he answers. "What's the issue?

"Sir, Miss Scarlet's assistant called," says Strife. "There's a machine rampaging on the 47th floor, and it sounds like the Thirds who arrived on scene couldn't subdue it."

"Alright," says Sephiroth. "I'll handle it."

"Roger that, sir," says Strife. "I'll let them know."

The machine turns out to be a three-armed sweeper equipped with a magic shell barrier that escaped the Sim Department. On the fiftieth floor. Sephiroth isn't going to ask how it got to the elevator or stairs, much less why the three arms had been separately programmed. It works out in his favor, anyway, because the arms start fighting each other in a narrow hallway, giving Sephiroth plenty of openings to rip out important wires. They discharge electricity that makes Sephiroth twitch involuntarily, meaning that the Thirds will be out of commission for a few days.

ShinRa will probably be more miffed about the copious property damage and Sephiroth's decision to save a clerk rather than the computer system she'd been assigned to, but it's not like Sephiroth can lift the desktop clean off the floor. Well, he could, but that would destroy the closed circuit for the whole section, defeating the purpose.

"Oh, Gaia!" the clerk sobs, and clings to his back, hand wrapping around his braid.

"It's under control," snaps Sephiroth. He jerks his head, but she doesn't catch the hint. "Let go of my hair, please." He still has to bodily get her off of him. Genesis would know what to say to the girl; Sephiroth will be sure to delegate the next Scarlett issue to him.

Something explodes in the hallway where the machine is still rampaging. The girl wails. Sephiroth takes a slow breath. That's quite enough property damage for one day.

* * *

News of the machine’s rampage reaches Angeal at the end of the day, after he’s finished a training session with Zack. He wipes sweat off his brow while Zack stretches his recently injured shoulder and considers his options. They’ve yet to talk about Strife, or Zack’s recent promotion, or the dead cadet, but apparently, Luxiere and Randall are both at the infirmary. What the hell is Scarlett building that it took Sephiroth to get it under control?

Angeal’s PHS vibrates. It’s a message from Sephiroth, to their group chat with Genesis.

 **Sephiroth** _at [14:51]_  
I’ll be at the helipad.

What the hell is Scarlett building that it’s making Sephiroth sulk?

 **Genesis** _at [14:51]_  
What happened?

 **Sephiroth** _at [14:52]_  
Nothing. I want to do some stargazing tonight.

Oh, boy.

“You’re good for the rest of the day, kid?” asks Angeal.

“I’m fine,” says Zack, automatic and without bothering to tack on a smile. “Gotta get ready for another mission tomorrow. By Kalm, so I should be back in a couple of days, if not tomorrow night.”

“Okay,” says Angeal, heading to the weapons rack to return the blunted broadsword he’d been using. Everything seems more or less in order with Zack; he’d been as sharp as ever while dueling.

“I need a favor while I’m out,” says Zack, as he wipes down his own practice sword.

“Yeah?” says Angeal, mildly surprised. Zack doesn’t ask for favors often.

“Watch out for Cloud while I’m gone,” says Zack, looking directly at him.

“Of course.” Angeal had seen Strife in the morning, so any concerns about him were probably emotional and, thus, not urgent. “He probably won’t need me - not with Sephiroth ready and willing to go to bat for him - but I’ll be ready to tag in if it comes to it.”

Angeal means it as a reassurance. Very few people can boast that they have the great General Sephiroth in their corner, but Zack just frowns and looks away. That can only be due to jealousy, and quite honestly? Angeal is starting to find the situation a bit ridiculous. Last week, Roche had actually approached Angeal to ask about the “seriousness” of Zack’s interest in Strife. He’d caught Gen looking at blond hair dyes. The less said about Sephiroth’s soulful looks, the better.

From an aesthetic perspective, Angeal recognizes that Strife is the cutest twink in ShinRa, very hardworking and sweet, with a touch of sarcasm to him. But there’s no need for the entire SOLDIER Department to lose its mind over him. He would reassure Zack that Sephiroth isn’t interested in the boy _that_ way, but he can’t guarantee that. If Genesis starts making googly eyes at him, Angeal might have to fling himself off the helipad, and not out of jealousy, since he and Genesis have an open relationship. But because the last thing he needs in his life is a romantic rivalry between Genesis and Sephiroth, of all fucking people. It’s a miracle that Genesis hasn’t seen Sephiroth’s hesitant glances already, although Angeal prays he’s reading too much into things. If Genesis hasn’t noticed Seph’s potential crush, then perhaps it isn’t there.

“I’ll watch him,” Angeal tells Zack, patting his shoulder. He has to forge a closer relationship with Strife anyway, since it looks like the boy will be part of SOLDIER in some capacity for the foreseeable future. “You focus on your mission. Go for a massage or something beforehand.”

“Right,” says Zack. He pauses at the door, obviously trying to decide if he wants to talk more, but then shakes his head and salutes Angeal before heading out.

Angeal doesn’t have time to investigate that further. After checking with the infirmary to make sure that Luxiere and Randall are not seriously hurt, Angeal heads straight to the helipad to check on Sephiroth. Stars are easier to see, at least for a SOLDIER’s enhanced eyes and when the sky is clear, at twilight. Midgard’s electric lights aren’t out in full force yet, and the brightest stars are shining. Angeal finds Sephiroth staring up, away from the setting sun, mouth set in a thin line and silver bangs swaying with the light breeze. He has an unsheathed kodachi laid out next to him, clean and gleaming against the setting sun. Not Masamune; it doesn't set off any of Angeal's critical alarms.

“You’re not hurt?” asks Angeal, sitting down beside him.

“No. It was just a stupidly programmed sweeper.”

Aren’t they all?

Knowing better than to press him for conversation, Angeal takes out his PHS. S.O.N. is perfect for quiet companionship and, at least in this case, might be the reason Sephiroth looks out of sorts. He goes straight to Strife’s account. Someone has authenticated it and changed the name to _Cloud Strife_ , though at least the avatar remains a generic golden chocobo. Angeal hadn’t realized that changing usernames was even possible. There is a single new post, the one that had sent Sephiroth spiraling, no doubt. _Access Midgard_ , the trashiest magazine on the Planet, had published an article speculating on the “nature” of Sephiroth and Strife’s relationship.

They’d taken one of Sephiroth’s more severe promotional headshots and paired it next to one of Strife’s smiling selfies. One of _Zack’s_ selfies, actually, though of course they’d cropped him out. Angeal scans the article, trying not to laugh. It’s the standard gossip nonsense, complete with “anonymous sources” claiming that Sephiroth has closely followed Strife’s “progress” in SOLDIER for weeks. Strife himself had gone and posted a screenshot of it to his S.O.N., with a simple question: _How are you guys getting all of this from a single like on an old picture of a frying egg?_

“We’ve gotta tell Strife that he’s not supposed to acknowledge _Access Midgard’s_ existence,” says Angeal. “No matter how funny their antics.”

“It isn’t _funny_ ,” hisses Sephiroth. “There are grocery stores reporting egg shortages because I publicly liked _an old picture of a frying egg_.”

“You’re right,” says Angeal, wondering if Sephiroth echoed Strife’s post on purpose. “That kind of waste _isn’t_ in any way amusing, but the article on _Access Midgard_? I’m sorry, my friend, but it’s hilarious.”

Sephiroth glares, but he doesn’t immediately start ranting. Good sign. These things do get to Sephiroth, make him feel like he doesn’t grasp the most basic of human interactions. Angeal has to explain to him, over and over again, that it’s not his actions that are the problem, but how people react to him. Case in point: his mindless, perfectly idle acknowledgement of a common food item has turned into a goddamn societal event. Who the hell doesn’t like eggs? And round, symmetrical things in general?

“Tuesti called to say they’ll have to ration eggs in some sectors,” says Sephiroth.

“He’s nice, at least.” Anyone else in ShinRa would have been having a meltdown and drafting protocols for all future egg-related interactions.

“And he wants me to make an official statement that I don’t approve of. . .” Sephiroth sighs deeply, “wasteful egg games.”

Angeal can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.

“Go ahead,” says Sephiroth. “It’s just amazing.”

“I’m sorry,” says Angeal, heaving.

“It’s been _maybe_ twenty-four hours since I liked that picture,” says Sephiroth. “I told Tuesti that it’s probably best if I ignore it, and then Strife goes and responds to _Access Midgard_ \- directly talking about eggs, no less. Who knows? Maybe I should acknowledge the egg controversy before the egg stock market crashes. Is there such a thing?”

By the end of the speech, Angeal is laughing so hard that he’s crying.

Sephiroth growls, then lies flat on his back. "Please go on; let it out. I hope I can laugh like you about this a week from now."

He won't be laughing like Angeal, but it sounds like he'll get over it. Angeal makes a note to check on Strife tomorrow and have a talk with him about the fandoms following SOLDIER. Well, following Sephiroth and Genesis, mostly. Chances are, they'll forget all about Strife once things calm down. Or Strife might be thrusted into the public eye permanently, since he's so pretty. They'll have to be ready for that.

Angeal looks down at Sephiroth, ready to tease him a little more, but the door to the helipad slides open and Genesis storms in, sword in hand. And "storm" is the perfect word for it. Gen is in full battle regalia, burgundy trench coat flapping in the wind, handsome face overtaken by an air of determination. It's almost like something serious is happening.

"You're an idiot," Gen tells Sephiroth.

"Not right now," says Sephiroth, gaze fixed on the sky.

"Why in the Goddesses' name would you bring attention to a random egg post from six months ago?" demands Genesis.

"I didn't think anyone would care!" Sephiroth yells back. "It's a picture of an egg. An egg!"

"And then you bring attention to Strife without coaching him on public relations!"

"I brought attention to him?" Sephiroth's green eyes narrow. " _You're_ the one who followed his S.O.N. account in the first place. The only reason I found the thing - and the accursed egg picture - is that I keep getting notified about your inane social media activity."

Oh, this is escalating quickly. Angeal opens his mouth, but Genesis slides the tip of his sword under Sephiroth's chin.

"Get away from me," snaps Sephiroth, slapping the sword away with his hand. Hard enough that the edge cuts his skin, though the mako seals the wound automatically.

"Guys, let's calm down," says Angeal. He's not armed.

"I am extremely calm," says Sephiroth, reaching for his kodachi.

Genesis' eyes widen, giving Angeal a brief sense of relief - he's seen that this isn't a game. Sephiroth is actually, _genuinely_ upset. If Gen has an ounce of sense in him, he'll drop this.

He doesn't.

Genesis squares his shoulders and smirks. "Guess it's time for me to be the hero."

"We are arguing about an egg post," says Sephiroth. "You fool."

No one is better than Sephiroth at getting under Genesis’ skin, often without trying. He's trying now.

Genesis strikes first with an expert sword strike that Sephiroth easily dodges. Smirking.

Angeal blinks. Enhancements or not, his eyes must be failing him. Sephiroth doesn't smirk during spars, no matter how assured his victory.

He smirks now, as he dodges all of Gen's strikes. He slashes through a blast from a Fire materia, slides under Gen's guard, and uppercuts him in the chin. Gen flies backwards, barely lands on his feet.

"Pathetic," says Sephiroth.

"Hold on!" Angeal leaps forward, has to dodge another Fire spell from Gen. He coughs, frowning at the searing heat and odd scent of materia-summoned fire.

"You'll never defeat me," says Sephiroth, dodging Genesis’ strikes. Lazily, without bothering with proper form.

It's reckless. He's not _that_ much better than Gen. "Seph!" yells Angeal.

Sephiroth doesn't so much as glance at him.

Genesis rushes him, but it's obvious that it's not an even match. Nothing fazes Sephiroth. Magic, kicks, or sword strikes all bounce off him. The few times that Gen lands a hit - that Sephiroth _allows_ \- Sephiroth shrugs it off. If this goes on, Genesis is going to hurt himself. Angeal has to stop it.

He has to jump in, trust that Sephiroth will ignore him, and get Genesis off of the helipad so he can nurse his pride. The next time Sephiroth strikes at Genesis, Angeal leaps at the chance.

Grab Genesis' sword arm, force him to drop his weapon, put him in a chokehold, and wait.

Genesis tries to counter with magic - Slow materia - but Angeal is not fast to begin with. He uses the resulting vertigo, lets himself fall and tries to drag Genesis down with him to hold him down, not worrying about Sephiroth, leaving his back completely undefended.

A mistake. The sword penetrates his ribs in a flash, right through him. Angeal sees the pain and shock in Gen's eyes before he feels the pain. Sephiroth pierced him through his side with the kodachi to stab Genesis' heart.

"Angeal," says Genesis.

Sephiroth pulls the kodachi out cleanly. Warm blood pours out of the wound, both his and Gen's. The scent of copper hits Angeal's nose as he goes down. He sucks in a breath, surprised that he can do even that much. His whole side is on fire. The mako in his blood is trying to seal the wound, but Gen's Slow spell is still in effect. Angeal coughs.

Gen casts a spell. The healing wave of a Curaga hits Angeal, but it does little for his wound. Genesis casts another spell. Haste. It burns through Angeal, but at least his mako healing speeds up. That, too, is extremely painful. He hears a metal clang, spots Sephiroth's kodachi hitting the ground out of the corner of his eyes.

"What happened?" asks Sephiroth.

Genesis casts a Cura on himself. "Get a doctor up here," he yells at Sephiroth, ripping off his coat.

"What _happened_?" repeats Sephiroth.

"Get help!" Genesis screams, as he pulls off his shirt. The wound on his sternum is already closed. He starts ripping his shirt into bandages.

Faintly, Angeal hears heavy footsteps rushing away. Sephiroth is back to normal. Good.

He's sure his wound will stop bleeding soon enough. Everything will be fine.

It's the last thought that hits him before he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, I would have gone out Friday night. That world no longer exists😖
> 
> Anyway, I figured our how to link to my Twitter where I cry about coffee. 
> 
> It'll show up on the note below this one.
> 
> I think.


	15. Malfunctioning Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clean up jobs are worse than the accidents themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weeks just keep on going and no solution for the plague, so more fanfic for me. This written after work, so ramblier than usual lol

The seriousness of the situation hits Genesis when, after they've taken Angeal to Midgar General Hospital (the _hospital_ , not one of the barrack infirmaries), a serious doctor approaches them to say that they are looking for compatible blood to transfuse Angeal. A blood transfusion. For a First Class SOLDIER. Genesis sags as though he's been punched in the stomach, feels completely disengaged when a nurse draws his blood to check for compatibility. A painful spark of rage assaults him as he watches Sephiroth offer his arm to the same nurse, who drops the alcohol swab as she cleans Sephiroth's inner elbow. Probably one of his fans. Would she care that the great Sephiroth skewered a friend in the back?

Goddess, he's never seen Sephiroth smirk with such cruelty before.

“The other SOLDIERSs,” Sephiroth says suddenly, and the nurse almost trips over herself. “You should test them too. I’ll contact Lazard.”

“They know already,” says Genesis. And they’re already making calls about how to deal with this. Angeal’s safety will not be their main concern.

The nurse herds him to a private waiting room after they're done providing samples - a drab place painted moss green, no windows to liven the anemic light from a sallow bulb, the scent of old ammonia clinging to the rough fabric of cheap couches. Sephiroth sits as far away from Genesis as he can, shoulders hunched as though _he's_ the one wounded, exsanguinated by a person he trusted. Genesis has no idea what to say to him, can't even figure out if he's angry (more than usual, anyway), confused, or just scared. They'd been having one of their usual, inconsequential arguments. Hadn't they?

 _What happened?_ Sephiroth had asked, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

A sparring accident, they had both said once medics arrived. As much as Genesis is seething, he can't just betray Sephiroth to ShinRa. Not when he can't prove - barely _understands_ \- what happened. Angeal would be furious. If he survives.

Genesis shakes his head. Of course he will survive. Thirds have survived worse injuries, and without medical attention. He can’t indulge in dramatics now.

Someone knocks on the door, startling Genesis. How had he missed the footsteps?

“Come in,” says Sephiroth, while Genesis stares at the door, throat tight.

The doctor who asked to have their blood tested for a possible donation walks in, dressed in scrubs, with her greying brown hair covered in a surgical cap. Sephiroth practically jumps to his feet, but Genesis doesn’t trust himself to stand with any degree of grace. “Commander Rhapsodos?” she says, nodding at Sephiroth. “I’m ready to update you on Commander Hewley’s condition. Do you want General Sephiroth present?”

For a moment, Genesis can only blink. Then he remembers that he’s Angeal’s legal next of kin, and they are not in ShinRa. Not technically, though he would bet that ShinRa owns majority shares at every medical center in Midgar. The doctor has a protocol to follow that doesn’t involve de facto deference to Sephiroth’s authority or treating him like a mindless lab rat.

“It’s fine,” says Genesis. “He can be here.”

The doctor nods. “Commander Hewley is stabilizing, though we have not found a compatible blood donor. It seems that his mako enhancements, which probably kept him alive in the first place, are starting to repair his injuries. Dr. Hollander is on his way, and we trust that he’ll be able to assist him further.”

“Okay,” says Genesis, finally standing up. “Can I see him?”

“Yes, but please do not touch him,” says the doctor. “The sword pierced his liver and the base of his right lung in two places. We don’t want him to start bleeding again.”

Goddess. Years of sparring with Sephiroth, and Genesis often trying to goad him, and never had the man slipped up and caused any lasting damage to either of them.

They walk to Angeal's room in silence, Genesis only vaguely noticing that some people gawked at them. Gawked at Sephiroth, at least. For once, Genesis does not blame them. He's observing Sephiroth just as intently, looking for any sign of danger lurking behind his famous silver bangs. Not ever would he have judged Sephiroth capable of skewering a friend just to hurt another friend. And that’s what it’d looked like. Sephiroth could have easily pushed his kodachi a bit further and sliced right though Genesis’ heart. Instead, he’d stared down at Genesis, face full of glee, as Angeal exsanguinated.

And then. . . _What happened?_

They find Angeal hooked up to several beeping machines, skin paler than usual and a tube attached to his abdomen collecting fluid tinged with blood. At least he’s breathing on his own. Genesis waits until an older nurse finishes dressing the deceptively small wound left behind, face frozen. He takes a few careful steps forward when the nurse leaves the room. Cliche or not, Angeal looks like he’s sleeping. Genesis is afraid to reach out and touch him, lest he vanish like a prince in a fairy tale.

“I don’t know why I would do this,” says Sephiroth. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Genesis knows he should be angry. But he’s not wrong. It doesn’t make sense that Sephiroth did what Genesis saw him do.

Suddenly, Angeal’s eyes twitch.

Genesis lurches forward, afraid to breathe. Had he imagined it?

No, Angeal's mako-bright eyes blink open, unseeing. Then, he makes eye contact with Genesis and gives him a pained but reassuring smile. Genesis sinks to his knees beside the hospital bed, reaching out to lay his hands over Angeal's forearm with something that sounds mortifyingly like a whimper.

"It's okay," says Angeal, like he used to say a lifetime ago, before ShinRa, to soothe Genesis’ skinned knees.

Genesis' breath hitches.

"How's Seph?"

Genesis grows cold. "He almost killed you."

"It was an accident," says Angeal. "Only logical explanation."

"I'm fine," says Sephiroth, walking closer. "I'm sorry, Angeal. I don't know what happened."

"You feeling sick or something- Gen, what's wrong?"

Genesis loosens his hold on Angeal's forearm. "Sorry, it's nothing." No time to indulge his fury at everyone _always_ putting the great Sephiroth and his feelings first. No matter the circumstances.

"What can I do?" asks Sephiroth.

"There isn't anything to do but forget this," says Angeal. "Soon as I heal. . . Why _haven't_ I healed yet?"

"Hollander is on his way," says Genesis.

"Great," Angeal says, dryly. "I'll be lucky to get outta here in one piece."

An awkward silence falls over the room. Genesis wants to leave, to read _Loveless_ , or to scroll through S.O.N. Or train until he's too exhausted to move. He just wants to be alone, away from Sephiroth's disinterested stare. Angeal can stay with him, since he obviously cares more for Sephiroth's feelings.

"Can you give us some privacy?" Genesis asks.

"Yes," says Sephiroth. But he doesn't walk out right away and lets the awkward silence stretch. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do-"

"Get _out_ ," hisses Genesis.

Sephiroth doesn't hesitate. He leaves the room without another word, and for once, Angeal doesn't stop him.

* * *

He has nowhere to go after Genesis kicks him out of the hospital room. Or, to be more accurate, he has nowhere he wants to be. People stare at him as he strides through the hospital hallways, but no one tries to stop him. Some people snap pictures of him, and Sephiroth hopes that he looks as terrible as he feels, that some ShinRa PR suit will lecture him about how his image is the company's image and he must always present an imposing figure in public. It's been a while since he scared someone from that awful cesspool.

Sephiroth checks his PHS anyway, not that he expects anything in particular. Strife remains an exemplary liaison. There are the notifications from S.O.N., which he ignores as usual. As stupid as it may sound, the current mess resulted from inane S.O.N. gossip.

The Turks are waiting by the hospital’s back entrance (not notable), Tseng leaning against the hood of a black sedan, hands in his pockets and his dark hair gleaming under the street lights (very significant, as Tseng tends to delegate most minor duties these days). But it wouldn’t be a minor duty, would it, to verify that Sephiroth hasn’t gone insane?

"General," says Tseng, with a slight bow. As with most things Tseng says, it sounds like the slickest of insults. "I do hope you're well."

"I'm fine," says Sephiroth.

"Excellent," says Tseng. "We're here to escort Dr. Hollander. You've just missed him."

"I doubt he needs me," says Sephiroth. The surgeon can explain how many organs Sephiroth's kodachi sliced through.

"Hm," says Tseng. "Would you like a ride back to your quarters?"

"I can hardly take the train," says Sephiroth.

"Sadly not," says Tseng. "I will go in to check on Commander Hewley. Please see that you rest well."

“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?” says Sephiroth, as Tseng passes by him.

“General,” says Tseng. “Obviously, there was a horrible accident.”

“Obviously.”

Sephiroth nods, keeping his face clean of any expression, as he enters the sedan. He doesn’t know what they assume (some argument gone wrong? An accident?), but they won’t be concerned with Angeal’s safety. Not until they’ve handled the PR storm.

The back of the sedan is silent and stifling, offering Sephiroth no reason to maintain his composure. There's the driver, but Tseng would only stand for the most discreet of paragons to drive him around, and he already knows what's happened. Sephiroth would bet a few hours under Hojo's scalpel on it. A fine tremor shivers up his arms. He curls his hands into fists and breathes. Closes his eyes. He's back at the helipad, searching for the light of the stars. Angeal arrives to console him, the only person in the world who thinks Sephiroth might ever need or deserve comfort.

He'd laughed, yes, but the situation had been stupid. Still is. A part of Sephiroth - the part of him struggling to comprehend what _happened_ \- hasn't forgotten about the egg nightmare and still cringes at what people must be thinking. At what Strife must be thinking.

Then, Genesis arrives to fight - fight over the ridiculous egg situation, and just remembering it makes Sephiroth's throat tight with anger. As if Sephiroth had chosen to be ShinRa's poster boy. Genesis makes Sephiroth so furious, so _enraged_ , but never to the point that he would _murder_ someone. Least of all Angeal, who has only ever tried to keep them from ripping each other's throats out. To keep Sephiroth from tearing Genesis' throat out.

Sephiroth only ever gets to humiliate him a little. Genesis would have preferred to get mauled, so in a way, it's more satisfying. He remembers their spar, how gleeful Genesis' desperation had made him. He'd intended to keep going until Genesis broke some important ShinRa property, then it's like someone has clumsily edited out crucial information. He'd blinked, then Angeal had been on the ground, bleeding out while Genesis tended to him and yelled at Sephiroth to get help. He'd worked out from their positioning and the blood on his kodachi that he must have stabbed Angeal in the back. But _why_?

Sephiroth pulls out his PHS, desperate for a distraction.

There are pictures of him and Genesis in the hospital, of course. Sephiroth hadn't even noticed the commotion when they'd first arrived, but there they are. Genesis looks agitated as he talks to the medical personnel, dishevelled and near tears. Sephiroth hovers nearby utterly expressionless in a standard SOLDIER uniform, white braid loose, the tips of his bangs bloodstained.

The sight prompts Sephiroth to notice the copper scent clinging to him. He looks at his hair, rubs at the clotted blood still clinging to his bangs. They must have touched the puddle of Angeal's blood as he leaned down to attempt chest compressions, barely remembering to mind his strength.

 _Of course, you would be used to the stink of blood,_ he thinks, from far away. Yes, he’d all but bathed Wutai in blood, fresh out of the labs, barely comprehending what life was like outside of it. He’d gone on that way, until he’d waded into a stream and swatted away the flower girl as though she was a bug.

Sephiroth shakes his head, clears away the odd thought. The glimmering of the crystal-like water and the glint of dark materia. Dubiously, he looks down at his PHS. He can't bring himself to read the comments to those pictures. Give him an egg post saga any day.

He notices another notification from a mutual follower, and his heart skips a beat. Strife has sent him a cartoon of an anthropomorphic chocobo making fun of the people wasting eggs. Sephiroth smiles to himself and likes the post. Then he groans and almost rolls down the car window to throw the PHS away. Instead, he responds to Strife.

 **Sephiroth** _at [21:13]_  
I meant to like your message, not the post itself.

He hits send before realizing that the message will look like absolute gibberish to Strife, who probably has a life, and thus, isn't checking what idiocy Sephiroth commits on S.O.N.

 **Cloud Strife** _at [21:15]_  
What?

Of course.

 **Sephiroth** _at [21:15]_  
The post with the cartoon chocobo. About the eggs. I just extended the problem.

There would be investigative reporting now about why General Sephiroth liked a cartoon chocobo.

 **Cloud Strife** _at [21:15]_  
Idk. Eggpocalypse is yesterday's meme.

Of course there's a name for it.

 **Cloud Strife** _at [21:15]_  
Everyone's worried about you guys going to the hospital. Are you all ok?

 **Sephiroth** _at [21:16]_  
Yes. It was an accident.

Typing it out for Strife makes him feel better.

Because it's true. Angeal is already on the mend, and it had been an accident. The only thing that Sephiroth is certain of is that he hadn’t _meant_ to stab Angeal.

 **Cloud Strife** _at [21:17]_  
That's good.

 **Sephiroth** looks at the message, starts typing a _thank you_ , but mercifully notices the three dots that indicate that Strife is still talking.

Thank Odin. Because "thank you" for what? Is Sephiroth incapable of being coherent on S.O.N.?

 **Cloud Strife** _at [21:17]_  
You should get a sockpuppet account.

 **Sephiroth** _at [22:18]_  
Others have recommended that.

Genesis had, multiple times.

 **Sephiroth** _at [21:19]_  
It never seemed worth the effort.

 **Cloud Strife** _at [21:19]_  
You should be able to like egg pics without Midgar losing it. Sorry that happened; it was unfair.

The simple message lifts a weight off Sephiroth's shoulders. ShinRa PR will undoubtedly tell him that he should have known better, that his actions are seen as the actions of ShinRa itself, that people worship the ground he walks on. That he is a symbol of scientific progress, of man's domination over nature itself.

He likes Strife's comment and puts the PHS down for a moment. Man's domination over nature itself. What a joke. He's an expensive weapon that can malfunction. Sometimes, he costs Gaia knows how much in resources - like eggs - and other times, he almost kills one of his only friends.

Malfunctioning weapons should be submitted for maintenance.

* * *

Hojo long ago set up an automatic alert for news of Sephiroth on his PHS. Of course. Though software engineering is not his field of expertise, he must admit that he's delighted by the advances in surveillance technology. He might have never let Sephiroth out of his sight if privacy hadn't become, for all intents and purposes, obsolete. Thank goodness for it, too. He has so much more time for his experiments now that all of Midgar is keeping tabs on Sephiroth and obsessively documenting their findings on S.O.N.

Midgar also provides him with a steady supply of subjects in the form of raw mako addicts. One of them is writhing on his operating table while he slices the muscles of the vastus lateralis and surgically attaches the mature fibers in a criss-crossed, but still organized, fashion. This particular subject has shown promising healing capabilities, and Hojo is testing the hypothesis that the mako has awakened a degree of intelligence in the individual fibers. Will the healing arrest if the muscle fibers are incorrectly sutured? Will they fuse together, heedless of the dysfunctional muscle that will result? Hojo intends to find out.

Once again, his PHS buzzes against his hip. It’s been doing so all day, which can only mean some enterprising photographer has caught Sephiroth doing something utterly innocuous, like petting a cat. Absolutely idiotic, but not as much as the kerfuffle over him liking that inane picture of a frying egg. Hojo must take the time to create some kind of filter for his notifications. This latest round of buzzing is likely more nonsense - ShinRa would have undoubtedly called him directly if something significant were happening.

He finishes his surgical reconstruction with meticulous precision, ignoring his PHS’s buzzing all the while. It will take several hours for the anesthesia to wear off, giving him plenty of time to scan his alerts for any meaningful data. Much to his irritation, he finds S.O.N. mid-meltdown over Sephiroth (and Hollander’s inferior specimens) being rushed to Midgar General Hospital. There are pictures of Sephiroth, his shoulders hunched and his silver hair stained with blood. Seething, Hojo scans the news. If his prized specimen has been damaged, then he should have been informed.

Quickly, he checks his official ShinRa email. There’s a memo directly from the Turks - from the Wutainese boy that ShinRa himself likes so much. Of course, it's one of Hollander's inferior specimens that has failed. Hojo calms down as he watches the security footage from the helipad. There’s no sound, but the topic of discussion among the Firsts is hardly significant. What pique’s Hojo’s interest the instant that Sephiroth’s mannerisms change. He has been observing the boy since before his birth - Hojo knows the way the boy moves, even if he knows nothing of swordsmanship.

Sephiroth takes every fight seriously, as though he fears defeat even though it’s been nearly two decades since anyone could best him in a fight. He does not stand around with a cocked hip, holding a sword carelessly, as though it is a toy. He certainly does not taunt enemies, nor toy with them. When he pierces the other subject’s chest, Hojo assumes that the man is dead. And is taken aback when, instantly, Sephiroth’s demeanor changes. He stumbles back, half-frozen, looking down at the other subject in obvious disbelief, even on ShinRa’s grainy surveillance. Then, Sephiroth springs into action and begins basic field triage medicine, not that it’s of much use without the proper equipment. Hojo doesn’t need to watch more.

The accompanying memo clarifies that Hollander’s subject survived, but barely. That’s not his concern, though. President ShinRa is personally requesting that Sephiroth be examined and any issues with him addressed. Hojo can only hope that his prized subject won’t be unreasonable about this.

While he would appreciate the opportunity to examine even a subpar Project G failure, the simple reality is that Hollander has considerable clout. It's not worth the risk to violate the moron's research subjects. Not until the right opportunity presents itself. He nods, ready to return to his work, and then his PHS starts vibrating to announce an incoming call.

It's Sephiroth.

Hojo almost drops the phone. Sephiroth has literally never called him before. He gets himself under control at once and answers.

"Hojo here."

"Hi. . . It's Sephiroth."

"Yes, I can read the caller ID," says Hojo. "Are you damaged?"

"No," says Sephiroth. There is a moment of silence. "But I think I need to be examined."

Hojo smiles. Of course he knows better than to let some hospital peon paw at him. "Come to my lab at once." That Sephiroth would come to him willingly, of his own accord, will make it so much easier to convince ShinRa that he’s not irreparably damaged.

He forgets all about his pitiful mako addict. Sephiroth has grown so difficult over the years, so unwilling to submit to greater analyses. President ShinRa wants him docile and so refuses to force him to accept further experimentation, to say nothing of the man’s odd concept of autonomy. Hojo very much doubts that Sephiroth could be made to do anything by force, so he sits back, waiting for the chance to do what he means to do. He wouldn't have dared dream that Sephiroth would just _ask_ to be examined. It's too bad that he has nothing exciting to attempt.

Well, he has plenty of exciting ideas, but ones that Sephiroth is too valuable a specimen to risk.

Sephiroth arrives twenty minutes later, dressed in casual clothes. His hair is spotless, so he must have stopped somewhere to get himself cleaned. Hojo eyes the long sleeves of his white shirt with distaste as he automatically considers the presence of track marks. Of course, that won't be an issue with Sephiroth.

They proceed to the examination room without wasting time with pleasantries. Sephiroth is, of course, in top shape - healthy, brimming with mako and life. Hojo indulges in a few moments of gazing at the beauty of his eyes, the absolutely fascinating texture of Sephiroth's hair. He could spend a lifetime studying the elegant cross-linking of amino acids that allows Sephiroth's hair to remain silky and smooth regardless of environmental stresses. Idly, he wraps a few locks around his hand.

"What are you looking at?" asks Sephiroth.

"I'm admiring my work, boy," says Hojo.

"That's not why I'm here," says Sephiroth.

"Of course not," says Hojo, letting go of his hair. "Physically, you're in perfect health. I will draw your blood for routine labs, but unless you're willing to participate in experiments, there's nothing else I can do for you." Gone are the days when Sephiroth could be cajoled into assisting with data collection through simple fear mongering.

"But," says Sephiroth. He swallows. "Something happened."

"Yes, I saw the footage," says Hojo. "Do not concern yourself with Hollander's riffraff."

“The footage?” Sephiroth blinks, then looks down. “Of course. The helipad security cameras. I should watch them too. And. . .”

“I can, of course, forward you the video,” says Hojo. It would do to cultivate some positive rapport between them.

"Thank you," says Sephiroth, without looking up. “I stabbed him.”

"I'm sure you had a good reason," dismisses Hojo.

"I don't remember doing it," says Sephiroth.

Hojo stops taking notes to peer at Sephiroth more closely. “Interesting. Tell me what happened.”

“I was on the helipad. Thinking. And then Angeal came to find me, and we were talking.” Sephiroth looks down to hide his eyes behind his hair. “Then Genesis came out, and he and I started. . . disagreeing. We had somewhat of an altercation, and Angeal tried to stop us. This is not unusual. Then I. . .” Sephiroth swallows. “I don’t know. I was standing behind Angeal and Genesis was looking at me. . . and my sword was through Angeal’s chest, into Genesis. I was gripping the hilt.”

“You stabbed him,” says Hojo. Very deliberately, if the footage is to be believed.

“I must have,” says Sephiroth. “But would I do that? I’d never do that.”

“Well, were you angry?”

“I’ve been angry before.”

Yes, as a child, Sephiroth had been prone to bouts of dangerous fury after mako treatments. Several promising scientists had lost their lives. Shattered skulls, broken necks, vicious bite marks. . . Young Sephiroth had been a ferocious specimen. Forging emotional connections with him prior to the treatments had been futile; the mako simply robbed him of reason. Worse, Hojo’s observations had been limited, because no one had been willing to risk collecting samples while Sephiroth recovered from the injections and mako showers. President ShinRa had been ready to scrap the entire project, so Hojo had been left with no choice but to leave Sephiroth alone immediately after the treatments. That being said, Sephiroth had not been subjected to further mako injection in years. They simply did not do anything to him anymore.

“Fascinating,” says Hojo.

“What’s _fascinating_?”

“Why were you angry?” asks Hojo, ignoring his tone.

“I. . .” Sephiroth tries to hide his face again. “Anger is a strong word. I was. . . aggravated by the situation with the--eggs.”

“Ah,” says Hojo. “A shame that you accidentally used an official account to express that inane opinion. Let’s hope that it caused a bit of a problem for the Turks.” He smiles at Sephiroth’s affronted look. “Go on.”

“Then, Angeal arrived, and we talked about it. . . He thought it was funny.”

“There’s a degree of humor to the situation,” agrees Hojo.

Sephiroth nods. “Then, Genesis arrived and started being. . . Genesis. Nothing unusual. He attacked me, but he can’t beat me, and we both know it.” He says it with a careless shrug.

“Of course,” says Hojo. “You are the superior specimen.”

“I was just going to wait until Genesis got tired, like I do whenever he becomes agitated with me.”

If only Sephiroth had shown that level of control back when Hojo had been collecting data on a regular basis.

“Then, I blink, and my sword is through Angeal’s chest,” continues Sephiroth. “I still can’t remember why or how it happened. It’s like someone made a sloppy edit of my memories. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Fascinating.”

Sephiroth glares at him, cat-like pupils narrowed. Is it possible that. . .? No. The J-cells have been dormant for years now, and as much as Hojo hates to admit it, he cannot say for certain why. His idea that Sephiroth’s will has overtaken hers is just that: an idea. And if her will were shining through, then why would she be interested in Hollander’s trash specimens? Why do the J-cells still under Hojo’s surveillance remain in homeostasis?

“Has something like this happened before?”

“I haven’t attacked anyone,” says Sephiroth.

“I mean memory lapses!” Why is the boy so fixated on simple violence all the time?

“No.”

Not that he knows of, anyway. “Fascinating.”

“Stop _saying_ that.” Sephiroth’s lips thin, and he swallows. Still so incapable of hiding his emotions. No specimen can ever be truly perfect. “I need to know if I’m dangerous.”

“Of course you are, boy,” says Hojo. “That’s the whole point of you.”

“But am I losing control?” asks Sephiroth, in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” admits Hojo. “The first step in gaining knowledge is. . .”

“Recognizing that you do not yet have it,” Sephiroth finishes.

Hojo smiles. He would reach out to pat the boy’s head, but Sephiroth has a tedious aversion to physical contact. “We can, of course, investigate. But not if you’re not willing to cooperate.”

“I’m willing,” says Sephiroth. “To a reasonable degree.”

Hojo can’t contain the grin that takes over his face, though it must be an unnerving one if the way Sephiroth’s shoulders immediately hunch over is anything to go by. “Excellent. Let me draft up a plan, and in the meantime, start keeping a journal of events.”

“I won’t let you read any _journal_ I write,” interrupts Sephiroth.

“Just write it for now, and you can go over it yourself to search for any lapses in your memory,” says Hojo.

“If I don’t recall something, then why would I write in my journal in the first place?”

“We can worry about how to analyze the data once we’ve collected it,” says Hojo. “Now, I must draft a plan for our experiment. I’m very happy to have you back as a research partner, Sephiroth.”

“It’s not research,” says Sephiroth as he stands. “I only need to find out what happened. Your experiments mean nothing to me.”

Hojo waves him away. “Yes, yes. I will get back to you as soon as possible.” With Sephiroth on-board, he might finally uncover more secrets hidden in the J-cells.


	16. Relevant Footage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth's avoidant personality meets Hojo's email.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plague is still raging so I'm still writing along. I can't believe I've been quarantining for six months. Lately, I've been looking forward to my grocery trips.

The next mission turns out to be more of the same inane monster hunting in Kalm and the surrounding areas. A nest of Bombs has been infected by whatever is fucking everything up lately, and it's set off a series of fires that's all but eliminated the season's crops. Not for any of the industrial farms, so Midgar's supply lines are intact, but about a dozen family farms are SOL. Zack did what he could. He has a sore back and shoulder from a Bomb that went off a little too close and burned a few layers of skin, and a bit of gratitude to show for it. One of the younger girls gives him a bouquet of yellow pansies with a dash of purple in the center. He gives them to Cissnei later, since they’re mostly wasted on him.

Most of the farmers have an air of determination about them that reminds Zack of his dad back in Gongaga. Kalm reminds him of Gongaga in general, though it’s way more populous than his backwater little town. It must be the dust from the half-paved roads and the mangy dogs going from home to home, waiting for scraps that multiple families are more than willing to provide. The air itself is cleaner, or at least contaminated with pollen and manure rather than leaking motor oil and rotting processed foods in trash cans. Zack slips an important-looking old lady a big check. His parents still have enough from the last time he sent them cash, and he should be able to recoup the loss in a paycheck or so now that he's a Second.

At least it's close to Midgar and Cloud has a PHS, so Zack can exchange messages with him during downtime. And other SOLDIERs, since most can afford PHSes, but Zack mostly talks to Cloud. He doubts Cloud realizes it, but he has a delightful mean streak online. He's not a troll, nothing close to it, but he sends Zack screenshots of the stupidest posts online accompanied by rather sarcastic commentary.

"You're enamored with your PHS all of a sudden," Cissnei tells him, index finger wrapped around one of her reddish curls.

"Not with my PHS," Zack says, winking.

"So who's the lucky girl?" says Cissnei, trying to peek at his screen with a playful smile. "Or is it lucky _boy_?"

"As if you don't already know," says Zack, blacking out the screen.

Cissnei laughs, but she doesn't deny that she knows who he's fixated on. Gaia, but the Turks really did read his deranged, anonymous screed, didn't they?

His PHS vibrates, so Zack waves to Cissnei and heads back to his room at the inn. A part of Zack is considering sending Cloud a link to his post (it's anonymous, after all) and asking his opinion about the situation. The S.O.N. version of "I'm asking for a friend", kind of. Zack would, but he's pretty sure that's also crossing a line. More importantly, what if Cloud guesses who wrote it? And about who? Zack might cringe so hard that it stops his heart.

 **Cloud** _Today at [08:11]_  
Have you checked S.O.N. or the news sites today? If not, don't let them panic you; everything turned out okay. Hewley is back to work.

What the fuck?

He texts that to Cloud, then opens up the S.O.N. app, and holy shit. Angeal had to go to Midgar General after a "training accident"? What the hell kind of training accident? He's a First Class SOLDIER. A Bomb exploded right up Zack’s ass, and it mostly just annoyed him and fucked up his uniform, and he’s only a Second.

The official story from ShinRa is spar between the Firsts that went a little too far, but the enhancements kicked right in and Angeal is back in service. There’s even a post from Angeal himself on his S.O.N. account, but that could be faked hilariously easily, hospital selfie included. Zack stares at Angeal’s wan smile from a hospital bed, belly tight with anxiety, and shoots him a quick message.

 **Zack** _Today at [08:16]_  
Heard what happened. Hope you’re good.

He gets a message immediately, but not from Angeal.

 **Cloud** _Today at [08:17]_  
I don’t know the details, but Commander Hewley’s calls are still coming in, and I saw him earlier today and he looked fine.

That’s a relief; Angeal is physically safe, though whatever happened with either Sephiroth or Rhapsodos might be serious. Rhapsodos’ bullshit, Zack would guess. Privately, Zack thinks that Rhapsodos is an arrogant drama king brimming with unwarranted self importance who treats Angeal like he’s a fashion accessory, but that’s none of his business. Zack backed Rhapsodos on a mission once with another Third, and the man seemed more concerned with looking like a badass than actually getting the job done. That’s not for him to blab about though, if only out of respect for Angeal himself. His relationships are his business.

 **Zack** _Today at [08:17]_  
Good. How about you? How’s the poison?

Cloud sends a shrug emoji. A chocobo-themed one, making Zack smile.

 **Cloud** _Today at [08:18]_  
Nothing; feels like some weird, made-up problem. I sparred with Sephiroth again, and same; couldn’t land a single hit. Have to see Hollander tomorrow.

 **Zack** _Today at [08:18]_  
Don’t let them inject you with anything.

Though what could Cloud do, if they really wanted him to take something?

The three blinking dots that indicate Cloud is typing light up for a good ten seconds, but no message comes through. Instead, Cloud sends a link to a fan-blog from three female Firsts cosplayers who like to put together amazing photoshoots that prove the Firsts would be much hotter if they were women. Not that anyone is asking for such proof, but Zack appreciates their efforts regardless.

 **Cloud** _Today at [08:19]_  
I have to get back to work.

He’s not any more subtle about avoiding uncomfortable conversations via text messaging than he is in real life.

 **Zack** _Today at [08:19]_  
Me too. Take care of yourself.

Though he’s just waiting for Cissnei to finish Turk business so they can head back home. He wants to get up and find Cissnei to try and convince her that they should return to Midgar ASAP, and even considers using concern for Angeal’s safety as an excuse, but that feels a bit disrespectful when, deep down, he’s worried about how Cloud’s next Hollander exam will go (Angeal needs him a lot less than Cloud, if at all). One way or another, Zack has to get used to Cloud’s new condition - he can’t exactly attach himself to Cloud’s hip.

It’s completely normal and healthy to work out his Cloud anxiety by scrolling through S.O.N. posts about him. Yes.

Much to Cloud’s horror and Zack’s sometimes-amusement, the combination of Eggpocalypse and the story about the hold-up that Cloud had witnessed has turned Cloud into a minor S.O.N. celebrity. ShinRa hasn't made any official statements about him, but he's been answering Rhapsodos' calls. There's a plethora of theater folk and fashion designers ready to give their opinions of him. They all think he's a dick. One of them seems horrified that Cloud walked out in the middle of her fashion show. Zack can't read her comments without grinning.

On the other hand, some SOLDIERs have commented on the posts to complain that Sephiroth spars with him personally (Luxiere, the only one dumb enough not to realize how that makes Cloud sound fucking amazing). The clerk from the bike shop says he saved her life, then tried to comfort her after. There are pictures of Cloud looking stern in his cadet uniform, letting her cry on his shoulder, which ShinRa is probably going to use for recruiting posters. Combined with the posts about chocobo racing statistics and translations from the old tongue, it's painting a picture of Cloud as a smart, mysterious warrior.

So Zack better get around to talking to Cloud about his feelings. The embarrassing ones. His cringy screed took him down the incel rabbit hole on S.O.N.; he can guess how this will go: he'll continue to pine around being Cloud's main support system, praying for the day that Cloud reads his mind and growing more resentful every time he doesn't, and then Roche will propose marriage and Zack will carry out a terrorist attack at their wedding. Or, to be a little less dramatic about it, he will ruin every aspect of his relationship with Cloud.

Deep down, Zack knows that he will be able to move on and remain friends with Cloud if Cloud does end up rejecting him. Hell, it might be easier if everything is out in the open.

* * *

With Angeal hospitalized (now in Hollander’s custody) and Genesis glued to his side, Sephiroth has plenty of work to distract him from the email that Hojo quietly forwarded to him. _Relevant footage attached_ is the subject heading. There is no text, just the attached security video. On the preview still, Sephiroth sees himself, holding his kodachi loosely, his form absolutely abysmal. Mocking. He does not remember ever taking such a stance during a fight, or spar, _ever_. Not even while going about his daily life. The security camera is not close enough to capture his expression in detail, and Sephiroth is deeply grateful for it. Though it is stupid, as he doesn’t remember how it’d felt, or why it’d driven him to literally stabbing Angeal in the back.

He can’t even bring himself to watch it.

Sephiroth considers himself many things, few of them positive, but he’d never thought himself a coward before.

“Sir,” Strife tells him the next morning, before the usual meeting with Lazard. “The SOLDIER instructors are asking if anyone will cover Commander Hewley’s lessons while he recovers.”

“I’ll do it,” says Sephiroth, before he quite registers the question. Usually, he trains Seconds, and only after they’ve been vetted by. . . Angeal. “Work it into my schedule.”

“Okay, I’m gonna have to cancel some meetings,” says Strife.

“Let Director Lazard handle the meetings for now,” says Sephiroth.

As Sephiroth had been suspecting for months, his absence from the accursed meetings does nothing to slow down ShinRa’s already gargantuan bureaucracy. If anything, it might improve its efficiency. He gets to spend more time surveying SOLDIERs, while Lazard handles the tedium of scheduling.

Angeal and Genesis would love to hear that. Especially Genesis. Sephiroth looks down at his PHS, opens the messaging app, and goes to his group chat with the other Firsts. It's been quiet since the incident. The last message had been a link from Genesis to an article about symbolism and swords in the older renditions of _Loveless_. Sephiroth had read it three times since, had even mustered an opinion on the subject, but had yet to comment on it. He suspects it's too late now, and Genesis would only make fun of him if he suddenly brought it up. Hell, he might do it just to give Genesis the satisfaction.

Sephiroth closes the app, displaying a bit of the cowardice that he's found within himself. Maybe Genesis won't make fun of his awkwardness. Maybe he'll just block him outright, as he does sometimes to other academics on S.O.N. There's little point in wasting time obsessing about it while he has so much work to do.

“So, Director Lazard and I,” starts Strife, by that Wednesday, and then he pauses and looks away. “I mean, Director Lazard thinks the best way to do this is for him to organize all mission requests, screen out the ones that are obvious duds, then send you the rest for final approval and mission assignment.”

“That’s more or less what we’ve been doing for months,” says Sephiroth, wondering why Strife had so clumsily erased his own role in the plan.

“Right,” says Strife. “I’ll let the director know.”

That works out. Lazard is practical and, most importantly, unencumbered by an oversized ego. While Sephiroth wouldn’t say that he trusts the man on a personal level, he couldn’t ask for a more competent executive to help him run SOLDIER.

Training goes better than he expects. The Turks had managed to spin the incident at the helicarrier as a training accident, so no one is scared to spar with Sephiroth.

 _You couldn’t scare mice in your current state,_ he thinks.

It’s such a nonsensical notion that it stops him in his tracks. He stares at the back of Strife's head as the boy walks down the hallway leading to Armstrong's next class, long enough that Strife notes the lack of footsteps at his back and turns around.

“Sir?” Strife looks at him with wide blue eyes.

“It’s nothing,” says Sephiroth, shaking his head.

He continues down the hallway, forcing himself to breathe evenly. After a moment of hesitation, Strife follows him.

Most cadets are dreadful in a swordfight, not even close to Strife's already fairly unimpressive level. Armstrong has drilled proper form into them, but they are painfully slow and tire very quickly. By this point, Sephiroth does his best to pair them up according to individual skill levels and simply observes. He gives out advice oçcasionally, but Armstrong is good at his job. Sephiroth feels superfluous, but it’s a distraction. Sometimes, more so the cleaning up low-level monsters around Midgar.

The best part of the classes is the few moments after Armstrong ends it, when Strife and his friend Kunsel meet up to joke and play-fight. It's nice to see Strife act his age, looking attentive as Kunsel gestures and makes funny faces. A few times, they've stood close enough for Sephiroth to hear snippets of exchanges about cartoons, chocobos, and S.O.N. rumors. Sephiroth has never had a friend like that, not even with Angeal.

"I think I'm gonna pass the entrance exam this round," Kunsel is telling Cloud this time.

He probably will. There's nothing else he can learn from the Academy, and he won't be able to keep up with the Thirds without enhancements. Whether he’ll take to the mako shots is anyone’s guess.

"I think you will, too," says Strife, though with a note of uncertainty.

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," says Kunsel.

"You're the one who sends Zack all the updates," says Strife. "To his PHS. That's how we dodge the patrols."

"Bro, what?"

"What?" says Strife.

Kunsel gives him a narrowed look, then Armstrong calls his class back into formation. Some kind of silent communication passes between Strife and Kunsel before Sephiroth gestures to the door. What a strange comment from Strife. Is it mild disorientation from the mako poisoning?

Perhaps, but there are no more odd comments throughout the rest of the day, at least not in front of Sephiroth. Strife carries out his duties as efficiently as ever, and handles the usual spar with Sephiroth without problems. There's no need to mention the incident and get doctors involved.

The day is over soon, despite the work, and then Sephiroth is back in his spacious apartment with his thoughts for company. And social media, he supposes. He has been sinking time into S.O.N., since cooking complex meals is depressing if there's no one to share them with. Sephiroth has tried some new recipes, but they have failed to keep his thoughts from wandering to the video he has yet to watch. Or the conversation that he’s avoiding. Genesis hasn’t sought him out, not even to try and goad him into another fight.

S.O.N. has not failed to notice that Sephiroth has not been seen with the other two Firsts since Angeal’s alleged accident. Not in the official, faux-candid photos that ShinRa had released to the press or in Genesis’ assorted selfies (also staged, albeit with different intentions). There are shots of Genesis making soup for Angeal, shots of the Angeal doing his PT routine (an excuse to show off his impressive musculature), shots of Genesis trying to pick a slightly different shade of auburn for his highlights, shots of the Midgard skyline at night. Sephiroth feels like a voyeur scrolling through the account.

It doesn’t stop him from reading the comments.

There are the expected well-wishes in all their exaggerated social media glory, the inappropriate and overly personal comments, the fanart, the advertisements. And endless questions about Sephiroth. Concerned questions, questions about his character, questions about whether he is to blame for Angeal’s injury, questions of his whereabouts. The first day back Angeal is back from the hospital, Genesis resolutely ignores them, and even gets accused of deleting some comments. The second day, there is radio silence from Genesis on the topic, but the number of inquiries skyrockets. The third day, he gets into an outright flamewar.

 _Can you all stop asking exceedingly stupid questions about Sephiroth?_ he posts, an abrupt text-only message in a sea of artful pictures. _He’s obviously running SOLDIER by himself and never posts on S.O.N. even if he has the time._

Sephiroth winces at the message. Though he is not active on S.O.N., he spends enough time scrolling through it to know that trolls smell distress like sharks sniffing blood in the water. The rest of the thread consists of trolls trying to get a rise out of Genesis, and though he does not respond, Sephiroth knows that he reads every single comment. It takes ten before someone is bringing up Genesis’ apparently obvious jealousy. The fifteenth points out that Sephiroth hasn’t bothered to make even a token gesture of goodwill, nevermind an apology.

Angeal is the one to respond to that one.

_Sephiroth has nothing to apologize for. It was an accident._

With his heart in his throat, Sephiroth puts the phone down. Was it an accident? He hasn’t managed to look at the video. Angeal’s loyalty, admirable as it is, might be misplaced. At the very least, he deserves to know if so.

To buy himself a few more blissfully ignorant minutes, Sephiroth connects his computer to his living room screen. Better to stream the footage on a larger screen, after all. Whenever there’s mission-relevant video, he makes sure to watch it on the large screen ShinRa had installed in his office, but he has never bothered with the same setup in his apartment. It’s easy to do, too easy to distract him from the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Back in the labs, he’d preferred it when Hojo’s treatments were quick. Strong enough to render him unconscious. Perhaps the video will be like that.

It is very quick - less than two minutes, in total. The camera had been situated overhead, so far away that Sephiroth almost fades into the background, since his hair is so white and often motionless and Angeal so broad and expressive. It’s obvious when he laughs, reminding Sephiroth of his mortification over the debacle regarding Strife’s egg picture. On the screen, Angeal leans down - apologizing to Sephiroth for laughing. The memory is clear as crystal, and stays so when Genesis saunters in to complain about. . . the usual things. His theatrics are background noise to Sephiroth, but he remembers the fury that had overtaken him at the helipad.

He remembers leaping to his feet, searching for something clever to say, something that would make Genesis feel as wretched as his tone. Nothing had come. Sephiroth is not any kind of poet or scholar, just an exceptional weapon. He only ever wins on the battlefield, is only as good as the weapon handed to him. He remembers wishing, so deeply, to be someone else. _Anyone_ else.

It’s the last thing he remembers.

Then, the video changes. Sephiroth washes his posture shift, Genesis tensing and raising his blade. It’s a very short exchange, fiery spells and all. Angeal tries to stop them, tries to stop _Genesis_ , because he assumes Sephiroth will not escalate the fight. As it turns out, the assumption is nearly fatal.

Sephiroth feels nothing when he watches himself slice through Angeal, stopping just short of hitting Genesis. Though he could have. But he slides the kodachi back in a smooth motion, shakes off an arch of Angeal’s blood as his friend crumbles into Genesis’ arms. A few seconds pass, then Sephiroth drops the kodachi, stance shifting from relaxed to confused. Then, he springs into action.

He remembers what happens next, as he watches it unfold on the screen. Desperate call to emergency services. Bending down to help Genesis with basic life support maneuvers. The medical personnel arriving. The helicopter ride to the hospital. Sephiroth turns off the screen.

That had not been him. He knows how crazy that sounds, but the man on the screen had not been _him_.

Feeling calmer than he had in days, he picks up his PHS and opens the messaging app. It’s not truly a secure line, but it’s not like the entire disaster is not on tape for ShinRa to peruse whenever he likes.

 **Sephiroth** _Today_ _at [21:31]_  
Have you seen the footage of the helipad incident?

 **Genesis** _Today_ _at [21:31]_  
You’re finally crawling back to us?

Sephiroth rolls his eyes. And he'd worried about Genesis' silence.

 **Angeal** _Today_ _at [21:32]_  
Ignore that. There’s footage?

Explaining it would take too long, so Sephiroth attaches the video to the group chat.

 **Sephiroth** _Today_ _at [21:33]_  
I blacked out from 1:23 to 2:37.

 **Genesis** _Today_ _at [21:37]_  
What do you mean?

They might not believe him, but Sephiroth owes it to Angeal to at least try to explain.

 **Sephiroth** _Today_ _at [21:37]_  
I don't know what I mean. I just know that wasn't me. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it, but it was *not* me.

 **Angeal** _Today_ _at [21:38]_  
You mean you were possessed?

 **Sephiroth** _Today_ _at [21:38]_  
No.

 **Genesis** _Today_ _at [21:39]_  
I refuse to have this conversation over text messaging. Seph, cook something worthwhile for dinner tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are in the USA and can afford it, please buy some stamps from the postal service.


	17. Intrusive Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The SOLDIER Firsts have an awkward conversation. Another one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is gonna be short because if I add the next scene, it's gonna be way too long. Since I'm editing in short bursts now, the scenes keep getting longer and more incoherent

Hollander says that the injury has healed, waves at some x-ray-looking thing projected on a screen, as though Angeal can make sense of the different shades of white and gray. 

"I don't know what I'm looking at," says Angeal, because the science types sometimes forget that average people can't understand their words and pictures.

"It's a perfectly normal CT image," says Hollander, patting his round belly. "No evidence of scarring, effusion, abscess formation, anything. Exactly as it should be, for a SOLDIER!"

"Okay," says Angeal. "But why was it not healing at first?" 

"Sephiroth stabbed you in the _liver and lungs_ ," says Hollander, shaking his fist in indignation. 

And Angeal still doesn't know what to make of that, but. . . "He pulled out the sword immediately, and from what the Midgar General doctor said, I didn't start healing right away."

"What does that neophyte know?" 

More than Angeal knows. "I needed a breathing tube. She wanted to give me a blood transfusion."

"And now you're fine," says Hollander, without looking at him. "Take the week off, if it'll make you feel better, but you probably don't need even that."

Angeal glances at the allegedly normal scan of his chest and abdomen, wishing that the hollow shadows would give him some answers. Why had his body failed, however briefly? If the accident had happened anywhere besides the heart of Midgar, he'd have bled out on the ground like a stuck pig. He looks at Hollander one last time, then strides out of the bastard's office, suppressing a weak urge to rub his right side. Earlier that morning, he'd gone through some routine exercises without issue. Except that every other moment, a part of him wanted to freeze in place, like a dog waiting for an electric shock.

But he had completed the exercises, so the sooner he goes back to his routine, the better. If only because Genesis refuses to go back to work, and, as much as Angeal loves him, he cannot take another second of Genesis hovering around like a dramatic maid. Nevermind how objectively funny it had been to watch him puff himself up in Tseng’s general direction over the expected Turk interrogation. 

Of course, Genesis is waiting for him in the apartment with a bucket of hearty stew that manages to smell good even if the taste won’t be anything special. He’s taken to cooking for Angeal, and his skills leave much to be desired. Angeal has grown spoiled by Sephiroth’s gourmet meals, and they’ll be visiting him for dinner for the first time since the whole mess had started. He’d rather go on an empty stomach, not that he’s dumb enough to say that. Instead, he walks to the balcony and greets Genesis with a deep kiss, slow and thorough so that Genesis grunts in annoyance when he eases back.

“I’ve got a clean bill of health,” he says, then leans back down.

Genesis leans back, refusing to be distracted. “Wait, that’s it?”

“I guess,” says Angeal, shrugging. “I feel fine.” 

“He didn’t explain why your body didn’t start healing as it should have? Instantly?”

“I don’t think he knows,” says Angeal. Which is true, and also terrifying. If Hollander doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, then what doctor will? 

“Fool,” snaps Genesis, glaring down at Midgar’s skyline. 

Thanks to the mako enhancement, Angeal can appreciate Midgar’s hundreds of thousands of inhabitants buzzing about in the middle of the day. 

“Maybe we should go to Hojo,” says Genesis.

“No,” says Angeal.

“Why not?”

“I’m good with the one creepy doctor messing around with my entrails, thanks,” says Angeal.

“Everyone knows that Hojo’s mastery of mako bioengineering is superior,” insists Genesis.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” says Angeal. “If I name three random Seconds right now, could you tell me if they’re Hojo’s or Hollander’s?”

“What about _him_?” 

“It always comes back to him, doesn’t it?” Angeal is exhausted. A whole week of Genesis trying to play attentive nursemaid, and Angeal had spent the entire time soothing his feelings about _Sephiroth_. 

“He almost killed you,” says Genesis, eyes flashing. “Why aren’t you angrier?”

“It was an accident!”

“He didn’t even apologize.”

“What are you talking about? He apologized at the hospital.” The details of that first day are fuzzy for Angeal, but he would bet his swordarm that Sephiroth _had_ apologized to him. “You mean he didn’t apologize to you.”

Genesis’ jaw tightens.

“I can’t figure out if you’re jealous of me or him half the time,” says Angeal.

Without looking him in the eyes, Genesis growls and storms away from the balcony. 

Any other time, Angeal would follow him and soothe his feelings, but he is so tired. Sighing, he lays down on the swing chair Genesis abandoned. He’s the one who got skewered, the one who had his mortality thrusted upon him at the moment he least expected it. And both Genesis and Sephiroth reacted in the way that made _them_ feel better: Sephiroth froze him out, and Genesis tried to smother him with pseudo-concern that always ended up with Angeal comforting _him_. 

The dinner tonight might land him in the hospital again.

He’d only managed to watch the short video Sephiroth had sent him once. Any more times and he might not be able to keep arguing that it had been an accident. Sephiroth had _waited_ for him to get between him and Genesis, had twisted his blade and sliced diagonally to cause maximum harm, stopping just short of piercing Angeal’s heart. Then, he’d stood and watched as Genesis tried desperately to staunch the bleeding. For a few seconds, but that had been long enough. The only accident might have been that Angeal’s enhancements failed, and thus, he’d almost died.

 _It was not me,_ Sephiroth had insisted via text message.

Angeal could not tell if that would be better or worse.

The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly, at least until Genesis comes back to the balcony and shoves a glass of iced tea in Angeal’s general direction. It’s as much of an apology as Angeal can hope for, so he takes the glass with a small nod, grateful that Genesis either forgot about the stew or decided not to have an argument about it. A bit of tension leaves Genesis’ shoulders, and he sits down on the remaining balcony chair. Unlike Angeal, he must have watched that video a hundred times. Whatever he’d seen, it’d been disturbing enough that he hadn’t even whined to Angeal about it.

He’s dressed impeccably for the upcoming dinner: black slacks with a silk burgundy shirt that complements his eyes. The tabloids would say that he rocks a sophisticated look or something like that, but Sephiroth likely will not notice. 

“I think it might be possible,” says Genesis, as the sun starts setting over Midgar.

“What?”

“That it wasn’t Sephiroth who stabbed you,” says Genesis.

Angeal looks up from the chair, surprised.

“I know how he moves, how he fights,” says Genesis. “Even how he talks. It was someone else, at the helipad.”

“You didn’t notice that while it was happening?” asks Angeal.

“At the time, I was somewhat upset,” says Genesis, with a one-shouldered shrug.

Over some stupid S.O.N. egg drama. Angeal knows better than to say that, but he can’t suppress the thought. “So, what happened, then? Sephiroth got possessed by the Goddess?”

“Do not joke about _Loveless_ ,” says Genesis, in mock-indignation. “I was thinking more along the lines of Strife.”

“This was not because of the egg post,” says Angeal.

“I meant this alleged mako poisoning,” says Genesis. “Maybe it’s hit Sephiroth, too. They’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

“We’ve spent a lot of time with Strife too,” says Angeal doubtfully. 

Although. . . Sephiroth is the one who’s been training Strife, and he had mentioned that Strife vomited at least once. Does vomit transmit infections? Angeal considers consulting Dr. S.O.N., if only to imagine Tseng’s pinched expression when someone informs him that a SOLDIER First had asked the internet at large for medical advice. 

“As far as I know, Strife hasn’t gotten violent, though,” says Angeal.

“That we know of,” says Genesis. “He’s a bit brusque, isn’t he?”

“Not being intimidated by you is not a symptom of some illness,” says Angeal.

“And you did say that Fair seems worried about him,” says Genesis, brushing aside the comment. “Uncharacteristically so?”

Angeal would say that Zack has not seemed concerned for Strife’s behavior, but that isn’t quite right, is it? Zack has been going on mission after mission for weeks; Angeal can’t remember the last time they’ve sat down and exchanged more than a few words. Not to mention, he’d considered the issues with Strife boring office gossip, nothing worth obsessing over. A part of him still does. 

“Let’s just wait until after dinner before we decide that Seph’s gone crazy, okay?” he tells Genesis. 

“Fair enough,” says Genesis, rising to his feet and flexing his wrist. “Let’s go, then. I’m sure our esteemed general has prepared a feast.”

He’s not wrong. The scent of delicious steak hits them the moment the elevator doors slide open on Sephiroth’s floor. Onions and garlic - Angeal’s favorite sauce. His mouth waters as they walk down the door, distracting him from an odd sense of nervousness. It’s Sephiroth they’re visiting. Just Seph.

Still, Genesis has to step in front of him and knock on the door. Despite everything, how much he’s told himself that he isn’t angry, Angeal’s heart beats faster. Almost stops when he hears steps coming towards the door. He stops breathing. And lets out a loud breath when Sephiroth opens the door slowly, looking straight at him with those slitted pupils as wide as they ever get. 

“Hi,” says Sephiroth. 

“By the Goddess, that’s _all_ that you’re going to say?” says Genesis. 

Angeal chuckles - manages to sound genuine, though hysteria is still bubbling in the back of his mind. "Let's not get off on the wrong foot, come on."

It's easy enough to fall back on their old routine after that. Sephiroth nods, half-turning to gesture at the table, and leads them inside. It's hard not to stare at him - not because he looks different, but because he _doesn't_. Same old silver hair - in a loose braid, this time. Grey sweatpants and a black wife-beater that makes his skin look paler than usual. 

"How are you feeling?" asks Sephiroth.

"Back in top shape," says Angeal, pulling out a chair. "Seph, what did you mean, it wasn't you?"

Sephiroth hesitates, looks down at his knuckles curled around the back of a chair. He looks younger than twenty, despite the breadth of his shoulders, the defined muscles of his arms.

"Let us not discuss unpleasant subjects before eating," says Genesis, sitting beside Angeal. "Especially not when we have such a delicious meal in front of us."

It’ll be easy enough to eat in silence if Genesis - the most talkative of them - doesn’t start a conversation. Which he doesn’t. Angeal watches Sephiroth at first, vigilant for any sign that something is different. There isn’t, so he can enjoy the delicious meal in peace. Mostly. Phantom pains still seize his right side, so brief that he has yet to decide if it’s not some psychological side effect. It’s an itch, the kind that appears right after putting on biohazard gloves that don’t allow scratching. It’s more annoying than painful. 

Genesis cuts his steak daintily, occasionally humming a popular tune from a _Loveless_ adaptation. He seems as calm as he ever does when Sephiroth is around, a relaxed competitiveness that Angeal sees when he’s arguing with some poet or other about translations of classical texts. It’s not so different from their old dinners, silence aside. 

And then Sephiroth’s PHS vibrates.

He picks it up, which is unusual enough. Sephiroth pointedly ignores his PHS when he’s not on duty, one of the few “rebellions” he’ll indulge. Then, a small smile takes over his face. He puts his fork down and responds to whoever has messaged him.

“What the fuck?” says Angeal.

Sephiroth looks up from the PHS, eyes wide.

“Are you messaging with someone?” asks Genesis. “During dinner?”

“Oh, it’s just a message from Strife,” says Sephiroth. 

“Something going on at work?” asks Angeal, feeling a little guilty. Sephiroth has been doing three people’s jobs all week.

“It’s not work-related,” says Sephiroth, shaking his head. “Just a meme - from S.O.N.” He says it like there are other popular websites full of inside jokes.

“You exchange S.O.N. memes with Strife,” says Genesis. 

Not publicly, or so Angeal assumes. _Access Midgar_ would have combusted if Sephiroth had suddenly become a seasoned poster. 

“After what happened, you think it’s a good idea to joke around on S.O.N.?” demands Genesis.

“For the last time, _what happened_ didn’t have anything to do with Strife’s stupid egg post,” says Angeal. 

Genesis shoots him a dark look, then fixes his gaze on Sephiroth. "What _did_ happen?"

"I don't know," admits Sephiroth, without looking at Angeal. "The last thing I remember is. . ." He sucks in a breath, then looks down at his plate. His PHS vibrates again. He doesn't look at it.

"Let's just go through it," says Angeal, gently as he can manage.

"Last thing I remember is wondering why Genesis is so awful to me all the time," says Sephiroth. 

"What." The shock is evident in Genesis' voice.

"It's not enough to have the entire HR department up in arms," says Sephiroth. "You have to come in and force a fight you can't win just to call me stupid."

Genesis looks at him as though he’s grown two heads, and Angeal doesn’t need to ask why. In Genesis’ head, Sephiroth is his ultimate dramatic rival, someone who enjoys the back and forth just as much as he does. The idea that Sephiroth hates the so-called banter hasn’t crossed Genesis’ mind, no matter how often Angeal tries to explain it to him.

But now’s not the time for that. “And then what?” he prompts Sephiroth.

“And that’s when I blacked out,” says Sephiroth. “The very next thing I remember, you’re on the floor, bleeding out. You guys know the rest.”

“You realize how little sense that makes,” says Genesis.

“I know,” says Sephiroth, getting up from the chair to pace. Very unlike him; Sephiroth is as calm and still as a tiger, someone who doesn’t waste a single movement. “The other thing. . . I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and right before my memory goes, _right_ before, I thought. . . _I could teach him a lesson_.”

“Teach me?” asks Angeal.

“No, teach Genesis!” says Sephiroth.

“Teach me what, pray tell?” asks Genesis.

“How powerless you are,” says Sephiroth. “How. . . beneath me you are.”

He couldn’t have come up with something more inflammatory to say if he’d try, but Genesis still just looks at him, jaw tight. Sephiroth has no brain-to-mouth filter; if he believed such a thing, he would have said it before. Often.

“I’ve never thought anything close to that before,” says Sephiroth. “About anyone.”

Angeal doesn’t doubt that, but it’s still a leap to say that the man in the helipad had not been Sephiroth. There’s a first time for everything, after all. Still, Angeal’s memory of the event is clear. Sephiroth’s distress prior to Genesis’ arrival had been adequate for the situation. It doesn’t make more sense to assume that he’d suddenly gone psychotically mad for a few seconds, then returned to his normal self just as abruptly. With a conveniently wiped memory.

“Anything else?” asks Genesis.

“I’ve been having strange thoughts like that lately,” admits Sephiroth. “Nothing violent, just. . . thoughts that seem to come from somewhere else. I’ve been reading a little about it since I watched the video, and there’s a psychological phenomenon called ‘intrusive thoughts’. . .”

“What’s that?” says Angeal.

“ _An intrusive thought is an unwelcome involuntary thought, image, or unpleasant idea that may become an obsession, is upsetting or distressing, and can feel difficult to manage or eliminate,_ says Genesis, quoting from some book. “ _Studies among healthy young adults found that virtually all said they had these thoughts from time to time, including thoughts of sexual violence, sexual punishment, "unnatural" sex acts, painful sexual practices, blasphemous or obscene images, thoughts of harming elderly people or someone close to them, violence against animals or towards children, and impulsive or abusive outbursts or utterances. Thus, it’s feasible that these shocking and aberrant thoughts are a normal facet of the human condition, provided they do not interfere with a person’s day-to-day life._ ”

“Huh?” says Angeal.

“It doesn’t fit perfectly,” says Sephiroth. “Or at all. Really, it’s been more like stray thoughts; all very brief and boring. They’re not violent either, or about sex at all. I didn’t think anything of it at first.” 

“So it’s like intrusive thoughts, but nothing like intrusive thoughts,” says Genesis.

“I stabbed my friend in the back and almost killed him,” says Sephiroth. “That sounds shocking and aberrant to me.”

“It was also an _action_ , not a _thought_ ,” says Genesis. 

“Guys,” says Angeal, sighing. He supposes that it’s a good sign that the two of them are already falling into their usual bickering. “Is there anything else?”

“Nothing directly related to this, no,” says Sephiroth.

“What about unrelated?” asks Genesis.

“Before this, Tseng asked me about a woman named Aerith,” says Sephiroth, waving a hand. “I had a moment of. . .” He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I don’t know. No specific thoughts or anything, but I recognize the name from somewhere.”

Damn it, there’s only so much they can focus on at once. “Did you tell anyone about your. . .” Angeal pauses. “Intrusive thoughts?” They don’t have a better name for it.

“I told Hojo a bit about it,” says Sephiroth. “Not much, just about not remembering. . . stabbing you.”

Angeal curses under his breath. The last thing he wants is ShinRa doctors involved, but what other choice do they have?

“What did he say?” asks Genesis.

“Nothing helpful,” says Sephiroth, leaning against his kitchen wall. “I’m keeping a diary, to see if I have more memory lapses.”

“I’m sure the prose is abysmal,” says Genesis.

Angeal laughs before he can stop himself. What a shitshow of a situation they’ve landed themselves in. They can only stare at each other in silence once Angeal manages to stop laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genesis' description of intrusive thoughts is lifted almost entirely off of Wikipedia; so credit to those editors. Also I'm loling at the idea of Genesis reading Midgar version of wiki lol


	18. A Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The get-together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm putting a short update up since there's a double storm hurricane hitting the Gulf of Mexico and idk if I'll have electricity or internet this weekend lol
> 
> Like, I probably will but. . . who knows. What is life nowadays.

The day of Hollander's next exam arrives like a ten-car pile up. The next couple of days go smoothly enough - Commander Hewley and Commander Rhapsodos return to work - the threat of further experimentation hangs over his head. 

Further? Cloud hasn’t been experimented on to begin with.

No rationalizations ease his anxiety. Sometimes, he blinks and the glow of raw mako shines through his eyelids, fills up his ears and nostrils, sears his lungs. He has to force himself to go to the infirmary, trying to control the faint trembling in his muscles. Zack had not gotten back in time to come with him, and Cloud had written some nonsense message about how _it’s fine, I’m fine_. But he’s not. Zack has work to do in Kalm, though, while the Turks handle some classified business. Cloud has to make the infirmary trip alone, and he can’t worry Zack while he’s out fighting monsters. 

"Little speed demon!" he hears as he sits in the waiting room, hands curled into tense fists in his pockets.

"Oh, hi." Cloud looks up, knowing already who he will find.

Roche looks down at him like a cat who just found a mouse gnawing on fresh cheese. That's just how Roche looks at everything, though, so Cloud doesn't take it personally. The SOLDIER is one of the eccentric types; he favors colorful bike-riding leather, even though he'd probably be more comfortable in a standard SOLDIER uniform. At least his outfits look cool.

"May I sit?" asks Roche. 

“Ah. Yeah?” Why is the dude even asking?

He sits down right next to Cloud, though they are the only two people in the waiting room and there are plenty of empty chairs. Odd, but Midgar people are weird, and according to Zack, Roche isn’t just from Midgar but also from a super-rich family. They’re weirder than most. 

“I hope you’re feeling well,” says Roche.

“As well as ever,” says Cloud. “What are you doing here?” Better to steer the conversation away from himself.

“Time for my quarterly check-up,” says Roche. “Strictly routine, just to make sure I don’t need mako boosters. My performance has been outstanding as always, so I don’t anticipate I’ll need any.”

“Cool,” says Cloud. 

“Professor Hojo is my doctor, and the truth is, SOLDIERs under his care very rarely need boosters at all,” Roche continues. He’ll go on talking forever if need be, which is honestly part of the reason Cloud likes him. “I do hope you’re selected for his protocol.”

The idea of being involved in any of Hojo’s _protocols_ sends a chill down Cloud’s spine. For no particular reason, since he’s never met the man. He’s still glad to be dealing with Hollander though, even if all SOLDIERs seem to agree that he’s not as skilled as Hojo. A conclusion they’ve arrived at because - allegedly - SOLDIERs on Hojo’s mako protocol suffer less side effects than SOLDIERs on Hollander’s. 

“It’s not as terrible as the conspiracy theories make it out to be,” says Roche.

Great. Cloud’s probably still looking loopy. “I don’t think they’ll give me SOLDIER injections,” he says, shrugging. 

“Oh? Your condition precludes further mako exposure?” asks Roche.

As much as Cloud had been mortified about Dr. Lazard officially telling the SOLDIERs about his “condition” at first, he has to admit that it was a good idea. Now Cloud doesn’t have to twist himself into knots around them, and it gives him an excuse whenever he starts acting weird.

“I don’t know,” says Cloud. “They haven’t told me much, but. . .” A part of Cloud just knows that he’d never officially made it into SOLDIER. That he’ll never officially make it into SOLDIER, he means. Wait, he _had_ already failed the height requirement. So it was already in the past.

Cloud frowns. Rubs his head in confusion.

“Hey,” says Roche, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Cloud shrugs him off, then feels a little guilty about it, since Roche has been so nice. He forces himself to look up at him. “I’m okay.”

“It will be a shame, if you can’t join our ranks properly, but no mako effect could have surpassed the natural beauty of your eyes,” says Roche.

“Thank you?” says Cloud, as his cheeks grow warm. He’s not used to people calling him pretty without being mean about it, or making it a joke at best, like Kunsel does. 

Mercifully, the nurse calls his name before he has to think of something else to say. He waves awkwardly at Roche and follows her.

They have a new doctor examining him, a lady with a thin face who is slightly better at explaining what she’s going to do and why. She encourages Cloud to ask questions, but he can’t think of any that aren’t related to the strange pseudomemories, and he won’t willingly reveal that “symptom” or whatever it is to ShinRa lab coats. Nevertheless, the woman’s attempts to respect Cloud’s autonomy makes it easier to be poked and prodded, even if it does take a little longer to finish the exam.

“You don’t need to check my mouth?” asks Cloud, after she moves to prepare the needles and test tubes.

“No,” she says. “Unless you have a complaint.”

“I don’t,” says Cloud, berating himself for drawing out the process. “Dr. Hollander did, though.” 

“He was checking for evidence of illicit drug use, most likely,” says the lady.

“He could’ve just asked me. . .” mumbles Cloud, then lets her get on with her job. 

After she draws her blood samples, she asks Cloud to put on a pair of goggles and play a series of weird little games on a computer to “test his reflexes”: identifying dimly blinking lights out the corner of his eyes. Painless, and even a little fun. Once the reflex test is over, they test his strength by asking him to grip a handle thing that measures how much force he exerts. She even lets him read the number, though it’s meaningless to Cloud. He can’t tell if the number is too high or too low, and the doctor’s lack of reaction doesn’t give him any clues. It’s possible he may have spent too much time listening to Kunsel’s conspiracy theories about ShinRa-led human experimentation. So far, they haven’t done anything to actively hurt him. 

“Now, I want to test how sensitive you are to noxious stimuli,” says the lady.

Or maybe not. “Okay. . .”

“The dynamometer can discharge low-current electric shocks,” she says. “It should be a little unpleasant but not particularly painful.”

That sounds more like it. 

The shocks turn out to be annoying rather than painful, just as the doctor promised, and then Cloud is dismissed without any fanfare. No one says anything about injections, pills, or medications of any sort. It’s a benign doctor’s visit, leaving Cloud feeling a little disoriented. Hours of psyching himself up for harmless tests. . . Cloud shakes his head as he heads back, taking out his PHS to message the Firsts in case they need something. They don’t, so Cloud starts heading back home.

He means Zack’s home. 

Cloud groans to himself. After a week of sleeping on Zack’s couch, it’s only natural that his brain has designated the apartment as his, too. His inexplicable panic over the weekend got Zack all riled up, so going back to the barracks won’t be as simple as shooting him a message. Not that Cloud’s exactly eager to go back to the barracks, but he can probably ask Lazard to be reassigned to some single room. Or a double with Kunsel; that would work out for the best. Anything to give poor Zack some space, who must be sick of dealing with Cloud’s messes.

Despite his worrying, Cloud can’t help but grin when he finds Zack in the apartment, gulping water straight from a gallon jug. 

“Hi,” says Cloud. “How was the mission?”

“Kinda boring,” says Zack, wiping at his mouth. “How were the lab coats?”

“They didn’t do anything,” says Cloud. “No injections; Hollander didn’t even bother to show up and do the exam himself.”

“Good,” nods Zack, putting the gallon of water back in the fridge. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“I’m gonna leave soon, you don’t have to worry,” says Cloud quickly.

“What?” Zack frowns. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the barracks, probably?” He looks down at his feet. “Unless they’ve put another cadet in my old bunk. . . I”ll talk to Director Lazard ASAP, but either way, you won’t have to deal with me taking over your couch for much longer.” 

“That’s not what I. . .” Zack sighs, rubbing his head. “Come on, let’s just sit down for a bit. You hungry? We can order from that place you like. The cheap Wutain place.”

If anything, Cloud feels worse that Zack is trying to soothe him. All he ever does is cause problems. Zack would still be alive if not for him. 

"Hey, what’s wrong?" says Zack, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah?" asks Cloud. Had he said all that other stuff out loud? He shakes his head and waves a hand, then walks to the couch so he can lie down for a bit. He's really losing it. 

"You okay?" asks Zack.

Cloud nods from the couch, then covers his eyes with his arm. "I just need a minute. It's the mako giving me weird thoughts, is all. It'll pass."

"If now's not a good time. . ."

"I'll deal," says Cloud. "You might get sent off on another mission, and then when am I gonna hear what you have to say?" 

"Right." Zack takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Look at me, at least."

Cloud lifts his arm, flips around to lie on his belly, and looks at Zack.

"So, this is not how I meant to do this," says Zack, leaning down to crouch over the arm of the couch. "But I guess. . . Well, over the last few months, my feelings for you have changed to something besides. . . friendliness." 

"So, you don't like me anymore?" Cloud feels like he’s swallowed a frozen stalagmite right off the base of Mt. Nibel. 

"What!" Zack's mako-bright blue eyes widen. "No, I mean that I. . . I mean."

"It's okay, Zack," says Cloud, straightening up. "I know I'm a lot to deal with."

Zack walks around to kneel in front of Cloud. "You're the sweetest person I know. You go around giving treats to stray cats, for Gaia's sake. And those things are never grateful!" 

"They're just smart," says Cloud, smiling a little. “What were you trying to say?”

“I was trying to ask you to go on a date with me,” says Zack.

Cloud tilts his head.

“Romantically,” adds Zack.

“. . .Huh,” says Cloud. He looks up and finds, almost like a joke, Aerith’s orchid. 

“That’s an amazing reaction that absolutely makes me feel great about myself,” says Zack.

“I’m trying to figure out if this is supposed to happen,” says Cloud. With help from S.O.N. florists, he’s managed to keep Aerith’s orchid somewhat alive, but hasn’t managed to keep it from wilting. 

"Look, if you don't want to, it's okay. Nothing has to change." Zack gets up to pace around the couch. "Well, I suppose _some_ things have to change - from my end, at least."

"You're not supposed to be for me," says Cloud, watching him pace. He's supposed to be for Aerith, but _that_ sounds crazy, since they don't know each other.

Hell, _Cloud_ doesn't know Aerith.

"I'm not 'supposed' to be for anyone," says Zack, looking down at him. 

Cloud swallows. 

"Look, I mean it when I say I'm fine," says Zack, waving his hands. "At least now I know you don't return my feelings, so I can start getting over this."

"I didn't say I don't return your feelings," says Cloud.

"Well. . . do you?" 

Does he? Cloud can't help but think of Tifa, which makes no sense, because why would _she_ care? She wants to exchange letters with him, sure, but that's because she's stuck out in Nibelheim counting snowflakes. She'd want to exchange letters with anyone who escaped. 

"Forget it; this was a terrible idea," says Zack. "You're confused from the mako."

"I am confused," agrees Cloud. Slowly, he stands up. "It's like. . . I have. . . I want to say memories, but it's not that. It's _knowledge_ , like Sephiroth being dangerous and you... dying."

"I don't know about Sephiroth," says Zack. "But I know I'm not dead."

"You died for me," says Cloud. "It didn't make sense for a long time; still doesn't make sense, why you did that." 

"That's because I haven't," says Zack.

"What if you sacrificed yourself for me because I was your boyfriend?"

"Cloud, I _haven't_ sacrificed myself for you," says Zack, walking closer and laying his hands on Cloud's shoulders. "Are you comfortable? Do you wanna go see the doctors?"

"Did you cheat on Aerith with me?" All those years gone because of what had been done to him in Nibelheim's accursed labs. Who knows what Zack had been to him. "You cheated on me with Aerith!" 

"Oh, Gaia." Zack leans down and presses his forehead to Cloud's, eyes closed. "I should be grateful you're not getting violent."

Sighing, Cloud takes a step closer. Zack's arms go around him automatically, and he tucks Cloud's head under his chin. A few seconds pass.

"This is nice," mumbles Cloud.

"Yeah," agrees Zack.

"I don't think it'd be nice like this with anybody else," says Cloud. 

"Yeah," repeats Zack.

"Maybe I should go on that date with you."

"If you want," says Zack. 

"Okay, let's do it," says Cloud, snuggling closer. "We'll even make a super annoying joint-S.O.N. post about it."

"Your fanclub would be devastated."

"Shut up, I don't have a _fanclub_." 

“I would know,” says Zack, chuckling. “I’m legit a member.”

“Ugh,” says Cloud. But he doesn’t pull away from Zack’s arms, just sighs and tries to enjoy the contact. Tries to think. Zack stays still, patient as a rock.

 _Does_ he like Zack. . . that way? He remembers - well, he remembers lots of things, and some of them might not be real, never mind how certain he is that they _are_. That Zack died in the ravine, in a pool of blood, ShinRa’s bullets shredding him to pieces. 

But before that, having Zack as a friend had been a dream, one that Cloud had never dared to even hope for. Going with him for motorcycle rides, movies, restaurants, teaching him about the Old Gods, curse words in the Old Tongue. . . The only other person who’d spent that much time with him was his ma. Tifa had talked to him often enough, but it’d always been more or less in secret, since her dad hated the Strifes so much and it would have caused too many problems for all of them to be too friendly. Kunsel had also paid attention, but they were bunk mates. What choice did either of them have, even if they’d gotten along in the end?

Then, the rumors about Cloud being a SOLDIER's side piece had started, and Cloud had prayed for Odin to strike him down. It’d been a long time since rumors had bothered Cloud, but what if Zack had gotten embarrassed and stopped hanging out with him? From what he’d gathered, Zack had been popular in _his_ backwater town and should have had no defense against constant rejection, insults, outright physical violence a couple of times.

It hadn’t turned out that way. Zack finds the rumors hilarious, probably because the jokes are mostly at Cloud’s expense anyway. It’s expected for SOLDIERs to have groupies and hanger-ons, after all. Cloud had let out a sigh of relief and brushed the rumors aside, to the same corner with the snide comments about Claudia, his absent father, his looks, his stitched-together clothes and ridiculous hair. The idea that Zack would ever consider him in a romantic light had never crossed his mind. Not once. 

“Spike,” says Zack.

He knows that Zack is handsome, but so are a lot of people. Cloud is handsome. It doesn't mean anything.

"Cloud?" 

“I’m crazy,” says Cloud.

They stand in silence for a few more seconds, then Cloud pulls back to stare up at Zack’s mako-bright eyes, the ring of gold around it. 

“Mako poisoning gets better,” says Zack.

“Not always,” says Cloud.

Zack doesn’t bother to deny it. 

“What if I’m never myself again?” asks Cloud.

“You are yourself,” says Zack. “Mako-addled or not, you’re still you. If you’ll have me as I am, then I’ll have you as you are.”

Cloud can’t suppress a sad smile. The way Zack puts it, he’s the brain-damaged bastard with a ton of baggage. “Then, okay. We’ll go on that date.”

It breaks Cloud’s heart, the way that Zack smiles like the first sunrise of the spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have an update on Saturday provided my country hasn't collapsed. You gotta laugh so you don't cry sometimes.
> 
> I'm still hanging out on twitter with some takes about Persona 5.


	19. Isolated Minor Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angeal always trying to manage Genesis' moods.
> 
> Cloud tries to write home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn't update this weekend since I updated before the storm, but why not. The chapter was basically already edited.

Though Angeal and Genesis have separate apartments, they spend most days and nights at Angeal’s. He has a more utilitarian taste in furniture, meaning he has dark couches meant to be used rather than an art deco showroom pieces meant to impress guests. What little decorations he owns were purchased by Genesis, who had long-since learned not to bring home anything of ‘artistic value’. Angeal prefers open places where he can do home exercises, yoga, and short jiu jitsu rolling with visiting SOLDIERs. Or, in Genesis’ case, amourous physical activity, to be coy about it.

Physical activity is currently not occurring, because Genesis is working himself into a tiff and pacing around over Sephiroth refusing to spar with them. Sephiroth is refusing to spar with _anyone_. Except Strife.

"He's in no danger from me," he says, when Genesis presses him about it. "It's barely even a spar."

"Why in the Goddess' name not?" demands Genesis. "If you go mad, what hope does he have against him?"

"None," says Sephiroth. "But it doesn't matter because, like I said, he's in no danger from me."

They're all too busy to argue about it more. Genesis would keep at it, but Angeal puts his foot down. If Sephiroth doesn't want to spar with anyone but his pet cadet (and Angeal winces privately at the uncharitable thought), then that's his right. So far, it hasn't blown up in their faces. Strife seems unbothered, still as efficient as ever.

The monster situation, on the other hand, keeps getting worse. A few days ago, a herd of behemoths attacked Mideel in the middle of the night. Ravaged the town in the middle of the night, to be more specific. No SOLDIERs had been anywhere near the island. Casualties were in the hundreds, the property damage incalculable. Where had the monsters come from? Why had they attacked a town? How had they vanished, without SOLDIERs to chase them off?

The unit that they dispatched hasn't provided satisfactory answers yet. Zack is leading them, trying to clear out the next batch of rabid monsters. They’ve set up a communications tower there, so Angeal talks to him via messaging fairly often. The complaints about being unable to take Strife on a date that they’d agreed to are endless.

The only good news is that, in Midgar, things are more or less back to normal. Or they should be.

When Angeal was ten, before his parents volunteered him for Hollander’s experiments, he fell off the roof of an abandoned house in Banora and broke his ankle. Apparently, he’d also hit his head, but Angeal doesn’t remember that part. What remains with him is waking at home, gasping as pulsing, hot pain travelled up his legs. Painkillers are hard to come by in small towns - most things are - and the lone town doctor had not wanted to waste precious dosages on what looked like a minor injury. To be fair to the old woman, the injury had indeed been mild. Angeal had not even needed a cast, and had been back to running around with the other kids in a matter of days. The pain, though, at least during the hours immediately after waking, had left him writhing and in tears.

The pain from Sephiroth’s sword had been nothing like that. Angeal had passed out too quickly, and Midgar’s doctors are not suffering from lack of painkillers. Not to mention, Angeal is now mako-enhanced and often withstands strikes that would shatter the bones of most men. The training accident, though he does not doubt its severity, especially after he and his fellow Firsts were subjected to probing interviews from Lazard about what the hell happened, just hasn’t left much of an impression on him.

“This will blow over, if we let it,” says Angeal.

“And why should it?” demands Genesis. “He nearly _killed_ you!”

“Gen.” Angeal grabs his wrist when he next passes by and pulls him down onto his lap. Genesis huffs, but allows it. “I know I say this a lot, but this isn’t really about Sephiroth, is it?”

Genesis’ wine-brown eyes narrow. “He ran you through the chest with a sword sharp enough to cut through steel.”

“Accidentally,” says Angeal.

“You didn’t see his face,” says Genesis. “Even if it was an ‘accident’, how do we stop it from happening again?”

They’d had this same argument at least once a day since Angeal got back from the hospital. “I don’t know,” says Angeal. “But we can’t just abandon him. He has no one else, unless you count ShinRa’s vultures.”

Genesis opens his mouth, frowns. He closes it again, looking away from Angeal. There isn't anything to do until they have more information. They might not be able to do anything even with more information - ShinRa is the government and the police; they are strong, but they can’t take on an army. Besides, if Sephiroth is ill - if _any_ of them are ill - only ShinRa’s science department can help them.

"Gen, this wasn't your fault, either," says Angeal.

"I provoked him," says Genesis, lips wobbling.

"You've been doing that for years, and he's never done anything like this," says Angeal, caressing Genesis' cheek.

"Well, thanks for the reassurance," says Genesis. But he leans into Angeal's touch and closes his eyes.

"You know I'd never lie to you." Angeal draws him down, until Gen is laying on his chest. "If what comes out of this is that you're less of a dick to Sephiroth, then I'll call it a win for all of us."

"He's a dick, too," complains Genesis.

"Either unintentionally, or because you needle him."

"How does he stab you through the chest and still get you to defend him from the harrowing abuse of my wit?"

"How is he still all you can think about even when I've got you on my lap?"

That, Genesis takes as a challenge. "I. . ." He huffs, then pulls Angeal up for a kiss.

There's no finesse to it, just a deep kiss while Gen pulls at his clothes. Angeal threads a hand through Gen's hair to steady him, smiling when Gen bites his lower lip in protest and pulls at his tank top.

"We’ve got time," chuckles Angeal.

"We also have stamina," says Genesis, straddling Angeal's thigh. "Come on."

“As you like.” Angeal flips him over on the couch as he claims his mouth. He slips his thigh between Gen’s and grinds down, and is surprised that Genesis is already half-hard. Flattering.

Angeal pulls on Gen’s hair to bare his neck and bite at his Adam’s apple. Genesis groans and grinds upwards, scratching at Angeal’s arm.

“Patience,” says Angeal, then claims Gen’s mouth before he has a chance to complain.

Genesis kisses back, muscles tensing, always eager for a fight. At least this one is a fun one. He writhes, then jerks upwards. Angeal tries to hold him down, Gen wants him to, but pain hits his side like a bolt of lightning.

Reflexively, he leans all his weight on Genesis, pushing his forearm into Gen’s neck to keep him in place. Gen tries to gasp, eyes going wide with shock. Angeal forces himself to loosen his grip, allowing Genesis to slip out from under him, coughing and rubbing his neck.

“What the hell?” asks Genesis.

Angeal tries to breathe. His side is burning, like a marlboro spat right into an open wound.

“Angeal?”

“I need a sec,” says Angeal. Every movement threatens to trigger a spasm of pain.

“Should I call the doctors?”

“No!” The sudden movement hurts, but at least Angeal can move without cramping. Pain can be ignored, so he straightens up to grab Genesis. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t lie to me,” says Genesis, voice small.

“I’m not lying; I’m fine,” insists Angeal. “It was a bad injury, alright? Healing spams are not uncommon.” Although a SOLDIER shouldn’t be experiencing them days after the fact.

“I don’t believe you,” says Genesis, moving to stand. Instead, he slides closer and lays a hand on Angeal’s biceps.

“Then believe that I don’t want doctors right now,” says Angeal. He knows what ShinRa does to failed experiments, and the company isn’t exactly happy that they need to spin his trip to a trauma center.

Genesis sighs, gently pulling Angeal’s fingers off his arm. “Fine, for tonight.” He lays his head on Angeal’s shoulder and breathes in and out, slowly. “But if this happens again, we can’t ignore it.”

No, he can’t.

There isn’t anything wrong with Genesis, though, so he’s not as worried as he should be. Not yet. But Genesis has the same enhancements as Angeal, so if he can no longer heal as a SOLDIER should. . . He hugs Genesis, trying not to think about it.

* * *

By the middle of his sixth week as official liaison for the Firsts, Cloud starts thinking of his little office as his personal space. That’s a mistake, the one bit of paranoia that he doesn’t blame on his mako poisoning. Anything ShinRa gives, it can take away. Better not to get too attached to the little desk and cabinet.

Writing a letter isn’t an attachment, though, so the next time Cloud has some downtime from answering PHSes, he takes out a piece of paper and a pen. The ShinRa logo in the top corner irks him, and he almost scribbles a bunch of black ink lines over and around it. Tifa would find it messy though, never mind how crazy it would be.

_Dear Tifa,_

He stops, partly because he doesn’t know where to start, and partly because the gel pens he has been supplied are so nice. For once, his handwriting looks clean and crisp. He rubs his thumb over the letters of Tifa's name. No smudging at all.

Well, Claudia always told him he should get to the point, since the time meter can never be replenished.

_I’m guessing Nibelheim still gets those gossip magazines from Midgar. I mean, the “news” magazines. Turns out, that’s not what they are at all. There’s really no reason for the Firsts, or rich Midgar people in general, to be in the news all the time just because they bought an expensive jacket or whatever. I haven’t really read them in a while. The real news is mostly on TV networks, and most of the gossip goes straight to S.O.N. I have a PHS now, so I can look at it whenever I want. It gets really repetitive and boring._

Cloud will have to rewrite this whole thing so he sounds like less of a know-it-all asshole. Just because he wants to avoid getting to the embarrassing part, too.

_Anyway, if you’re still getting them over there, then you’ll get the one about me being. . . Honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be. I just know that I’m a SOLDIER cadet who’s been assigned to answer the Firsts phone calls. That includes General Sephiroth. And sometimes, I have to go take notes at meetings for them, and I was with Commander Rhapsodos for one of those and a store got held up. Commander Rhapsodos handled it; I was fine. But then the gossip people got bored and there were pictures of me, and they just started writing weird stuff._

Cloud feels his cheeks heating up. What they started writing about is how good-looking he is, and wondering whether he's single or if he's Sephiroth's boyfriend or date (though they’d never been seen anywhere together) or Odin only knows what else. He puts the pen down and groans to himself. There’s no way he can send this letter.

_I suppose that doesn’t explain the stuff about General Sephiroth. What happened was all three Firsts followed my S.O.N. account (if you have one, let me know your account name, because I get a lot of spam now, so if you tried to follow me, I probably ignored you.). Anyway, General Sephiroth liked one of my posts about an egg I was frying for breakfast, and all of Midgar lost its mind for like three days. I know how stupid that sounds, but I swear that’s what happened. I was afraid I was gonna get fired over the entire thing, but thankfully, it all blew over. Kind of._

She isn’t going to believe that. Hell, Cloud still doesn’t believe that it happened. Yesterday, he saw a girl at the cafeteria wearing a t-shirt with a picture of his egg. It had been the most surreal experience of his life, mostly because it hadn’t surprised him as much as it should have.

“She wasn’t wearing a picture of your actual face,” Kunsel had said. “We should be grateful for that much.”

“They do sometimes.”

“What?”

For a second, Cloud had been sure that, sometimes, people _do_ wear t-shirts with pictures of his actual face. “Mako thoughts,” he’d said to Kunsel. He’ll have to start saying that every time he gets a rush of certainty about something that makes no sense.

_You probably want to know about the SOLDIERs._

Cloud certainly would have, a lifetime ago. He’d spent so long imagining himself as a SOLDIER, fighting side by side with the image of Sephiroth that ShinRa had branded into the minds of everyone on the Planet. For him, it’d been a promise of success, of becoming someone who _mattered_ , of proving to the backwards people of Nibelheim that they’d been wrong about him. Tifa once admitted that her dreams had been a little different, that she’d imagined him coming back as a SOLDIER to take her away from the banal existence she’d endured in Midgar.

No, that had been part of his dream too, hadn’t it? He’d wanted so badly to be worthy of Tifa, to be the kind of man someone like her would want.

He shakes his head. Mako thoughts; it’s just mako thoughts. He goes back to the letter.

_General Sephiroth is pretty nice, actually. He works crazy hours and doesn’t realize normal people need to rest, but he doesn’t get too mad if you explain it to him. He doesn’t dress like in the posters, either. I’ve never seen him in that leather get-up, just a regular SOLDIER uniform. His hair is as long and as silvery as in the magazines, but he mostly keeps it braided or tied up in a bun. And he’s tall. I know most people are tall compared to me, but I think I’m gonna get a crick in my neck looking up at him during meetings and stuff. His pupils really are slitted like a cat’s, but you get used to it pretty quickly. It’s not that noticeable unless you’re standing really close to him, anyway._

When was Cloud that close to Sephiroth?

More mako thoughts. The more he focuses on it, the worse he’ll feel.

_Commander Rhapsodos is hard to describe. He’s weirder than Sephiroth by a lot. There’s this play he really likes, and he’s spent a decade studying just that one play. Remember that story my ma likes to tell about Gailanad and the two knights who were in love with her? The super-dramatic one where the world ends? It’s based on that, except they think there’s not an official ending, so a bunch of rich Midgar people just argue about it a lot. I would tell Commander Rhapsodos the ending, but he’s kind of intense about it._

_Once, he heard me talking to a beggar in the Old Tongue, and there aren’t a lot of people here who speak it. Definitely less than out in the boonies, if you can believe it. I haven’t met anyone else who does. Commander Rhapsodos got really excited when he realized I could, and now I’ve been translating the poem for him. I haven’t told him the ending I know in case it bums him out. He’s not really a bad guy, just rich and intense, and I can see this means a lot to him. I think he’d be disappointed at any ending. Seems he likes the mystery of it._

Cloud bites the pen, thinking of the best way to describe Commander Hewley next. What he wants to write is _Commander Hewley is a lot like Master Zangan,_ which makes no sense for the obvious reason that Tifa doesn't know who that is.

_I think you'd like Commander Hewley the best. He's the most normal of the three, and he's really into hand-to-hand combat. Swords too, like most soldiers, but he probably can tear through battalions with just his fists. And he really likes to help people and is always thinking of everyone else all the time. When I got my non-promotion, he was the one who tried to make it easiest for me._

_Fake promotion, because my rank didn't change, so I don't get more money. Just way less time to train and lots of phone calls to answer. And notoriety I don't want. I get the privilege of blocking people who want to talk to the Firsts, and now they all think I'm doing it on purpose, like I get to decide what mood these guys are in. I don't, especially not Rhapsodos. But it’s not all bad; probably the easiest job I’ve ever had. It gets a little boring sometimes._

_Most of the time, I’m scared shitless. They’re telling me I have mako poisoning. It’s making me stronger than I’m supposed to be, and giving me strange visions. I lied to ShinRa about it because they experiment on people - it’s Midgar’s worst-kept secret. They did it to me too, and they’ll do worse if they can. I told Zack. They killed Zack last time._

Cloud stops. He realizes that he’s practically gasping for breath, eyes wet with unshed tears. Has he ever mentioned Zack in any of his letters to Tifa? He’d written them a lifetime ago.

He’d written them less than a month ago. Grunting, Cloud crumples the letter and throws it in the paper in the garbage. Then, he gets up and fishes the crumpled sheet out of the trash. What if some Turk finds it? Odin, why would the Turks be ruffling through his trash? No reason, but it still wouldn’t hurt to flush the incriminating letter down the toilet. Before he can convince himself that he’s crazy, Cloud stands up and grabs the PHSes. He opens the door, harried, and runs straight into Sephiroth’s chest.

“Excuse me,” says Sephiroth, as Cloud takes half a stumble backwards.

“Sorry,” says Cloud, blushing. Of course. He hides his letter at the small of his back, as though Sephiroth might see it and insist on reading it.

“Is this a bad time?” asks Sephiroth.

Cloud looks up at him and ignores the wave of vertigo that overtakes him. Is it a physical symptom, or is it just how surreal a vaguely confused expression looks on Sephiroth’s face? “I’m good,” says Cloud, slipping his letter into his back pocket.

“This is a very small office,” says Sephiroth, walking in without asking. Which he could, since he’s Cloud’s boss, so it doesn’t matter how much it might make Cloud’s skin crawl. He’s never stood so close to Sephiroth before, aside from the time that Sephiroth stabbed him.

“What?”

“Your office seems cramped,” says Sephiroth.

That breathless question had been mostly at himself. “It’s the biggest office I’ve ever had,” says Cloud, eager to fill the silence.

“How could you even sit in your old ones?”

“This is the _only_ office I’ve ever had, sir.”

“Right,” says Sephiroth, looking down somewhere at the vicinity of Cloud's feet. On anyone else, it would look like an awkward gesture.

“How can I help you, sir?”

"You speak in the Old Tongue, correct? Genesis has spoken about it."

"Yeah," says Cloud. "I learned from my mother."

"And how does she know the language?" asks Sephiroth.

"I don't know," lies Cloud.

Claudia had been a member of the Mountain Clans before Cloud was born, a daughter of the old families that lived in the Western Continent and travelled from mountain to mountain as they fled from vicious, but cyclical, winter blizzards. They'd been fairly secluded even before ShinRa took over the region with all its mako reactors, mistrusted thanks to their insistence on worshipping the Old Gods and rejecting Planetology. Though everyone has abandoned even that religion now, since ShinRa demands that they worship mako and their miraculous machines. Claudia had been expelled from her clan for reasons that she had never shared with Cloud, but she insisted that he learn to speak the language in case he ever needed to flee to the mountains.

None of it is a secret - in fact, the Turks had probably already worked most of this out just from observation and talking to Zack and Kunsel, but Cloud does not want to tell Sephiroth anything overly personal.

"I see," says Sephiroth. "By any chance, could she have picked up the language from a group of people calling themselves Ancients, or Cetra?"

"No." Cloud breathes out the word automatically and easily, though hearing the word Ancient coming from Sephiroth, no matter how mildly spoken, makes his heartbeat flutter. "I mean, I've never heard her talk about anything like that. Just people from the mountains who refuse mako technology."

“Right,” says Sephiroth. “There are clusters of people all over the Planet rejecting mako technology for religious reasons.”

Cloud nods, though that’s not the deal with Claudia and Nibelheim; Claudia is perfectly willing to use naturally formed materia and electrical appliances. She would probably settle for Miss Scarlet’s mass-produced imitations in a pinch, though she’d discard them as an inferior product at the first opportunity. He doesn’t actually know what exactly happened in his mother’s past, and he wouldn’t pry into her history, anyway. If he did, he wouldn’t tell Sephiroth about it.

Sephiroth opens his mouth, but the ShinRa PHS mercifully interrupts him.

“Firsts’ liaison here, what’s the issue?” Cloud would turn around, but he isn’t showing Sephiroth his back that easily. Instead, he settles for looking away. “Okay, a moment please.” He looks back to Sephiroth. “Heidegger’s robots are rampaging in the building again.”

“Where?” asks Sephiroth, with a petulant huff.

“SOLDIER rec center, probably from the simulation room there,” says Cloud.

“And there are no SOLDIERs on-site who can deal with it?”

“Apparently not,” shrugs Cloud.

“Fine,” says Sephiroth. “Tell them I’m on my way. We’ll continue our discussion later.”

Cloud nods and answers the caller as Sephiroth strides out of his office. He sincerely hopes Sephiroth forgets about the whole thing. Hell, he wishes Sephiroth would forget about him altogether. Both are highly unlikely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back to Saturday morning updates next weekend.


	20. Fan Clubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zack comes back from his last mission and finds some unexpected developments.

Zack will forever count Mideel as his first warzone. He’s grateful - or will be once the shock wears off - that their enemies were not Wutains, or Avalanche. Or humans at all. That had been his biggest fear when he’d joined ShinRa, that he’d have to fight some poor bastards that had enough of their bullshit. The Planet itself is a better opponent, one whose screams he can’t understand, much less sympathize with. Not that he buys into all the Planetology, soul of Gaia, screams of the Lifestream bullshit, but. . . Well, something had definitely screamed in Mideel. Screamed and burned and ripped through it.

He rubs at his right shoulder and down his arm, where the rabid behemoth sank its claws into him and exposed the red meat of his triceps before the mako in his blood could do anything. Markell - the other Second Class he’d tried to save - had been straight-up _flattened_ under the beast’s hind leg. Zack had found bits and pieces of meat, blood, and guts stuck to his uniform after, in the makeshift infirmary.

His own wound is mostly gone, though it had taken over a week to heal. Maybe it had saved him in the end. While he’d been healing, Zack had been forced to stay behind the barricades, trying to organize Mideel’s meager militia while directing uninjured SOLDIERs out getting mauled by monsters. Three more Seconds had died, but they’d driven the behemoths back. Kind of. Zack had been there for the last battle. The monsters had just stopped suddenly, dispersed back out to the mountains as though summoned by something only they could hear.

ShinRa is still calling it a victory, of course. The people of Mideel hadn’t been there to see monsters kamikaze the company’s prized - and feared - attack dogs. Before getting on the plane back to Midgar, Zack had stopped by the communications tower to message Cloud and call his family back in Gongaga. He’d checked the official news report after, and yeah. _SOLDIER Battalion Defeats Horde of Rabid Behemoths: Mideel Grateful._ That would be terrible enough on its own, but someone in HR had decided to use a picture of _Zack_ for the cover. Not one of him on the battlefield - him showing a blue materia orb to some kid from Mideel whose name he doesn’t remember.

He remembers that the kid’s parents had died, and Zack had tried to take his mind off it. Now ShinRa has a nice recruitment photo of him.

That’s not his fault, though. Self-flagellating about it won’t do anything, except make him hesitate the next time he sees a kid who could use a reason to smile. Zack sighs deeply, runs a hand through his hair and rolls his shoulders, eyes closed. His thighs and glutes are going to hurt after hours planted in one of ShinRa’s military planes, mako enhancements be damned.

“You still got the scar.”

“Hm?” Zack opens his eyes and finds a fellow Second looking at his arm, where the behemoth almost took him out. He glances at the mottled skin, touches it with the pads of his fingers. Smooth and a little bumpy, but it doesn’t hurt anymore and he has full mobility back. He shrugs. “Whatever.”

“You’re not supposed to scar,” insists Killund, one of the older SOLDIERs among them. He’d been in the program since its inception.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” says Zack. “My skin disagrees.”

“You’re not the only one scarring,” says Killund.

“Great,” says Zack. Then he stretches out as much as he can and pointedly closes his eyes, as though he could sleep the rest of the way back.

Killund doesn’t try to talk to him again, but it hardly helps. The rest of the SOLDIERs in transport pick up the topic, start telling each other about their own scars from the battles, wondering what it means. What the doctors will do. Zack doesn’t want to think about it, so he stays silent for the remainder of the trip. Once or twice, a Third tries to engage him, but he just shrugs or hums noncommittal answers. People died. He can’t bring himself to care that he has a few scratches.

They don’t have to wait long to have their questions ignored by the lab coats, anyway. The science department is waiting for them at the runaway, with medical tents set up and everything. Zack groans at the sight. He just wants to go home and see Cloud.

“Fuck me,” he breathes, as he unhooks the belt and stands up.

“Hey, some of us want to get checked out,” says another SOLDIER.

Zack doesn’t bother to respond, as he avoids conversations when he's in a mood to punch something. Instead, he turns on his PHS and feels some of the tension leave his shoulders. Cloud has sent him a barrage of messages.

 **Cloud** _Yesterday at [20:06]_  
There’s a fanclub for you now hahaha. Let’s see how funny it is when you’re the one getting all the random nudes.

 **Cloud** _Yesterday at [21:42]_  
S.O.N. says Sephiroth is jealous of you because lol I think he barely knows your name.

 **Cloud** _Yesterday at [21:45]_  
Which is the way you want it btw no need for Sephiroth to be interested in you.

 **Cloud** _Yesterday at [21:52]_  
I joined your fanclub with my official account just to piss people off  
Don’t know why it would, but it definitely would

 **Cloud** _Yesterday at [22:50]_  
This isn’t even mildly funny now everyone is mad that you’re stealing me from Sephiroth  
Why do they think that Sephiroth and me are a thing?????

 **Cloud** _Yesterday at [22:52]_  
I’m not saying anything myself obviously but these idiots don’t private a single dumbass comment

 **Cloud** _Yesterday at [22:59]_  
This is dumb I’m going to bed

Zack chuckles to himself as he gets in-line for one of the medical tents. He’s going to assume that Cloud did not actually get into an S.O.N. flamewar over Sephiroth - at least, not officially. Trying not to dwell on his new popularity, he keeps scrolling through the messages.

 **Cloud** _Today at [07:42]_  
Lazard says I’m not supposed to join the fanclubs cus it gives the illusion of favoritism or discohesion or whatever so I had to unsubscribe from the board and now S.O.N. thinks Sephiroth made me leave your fanclub

This is the kind of shit ShinRa is concerned with while behemoths eat them? Zack supposes it would be funny, if he wasn’t in the middle of it.

 **Cloud** _Today at [07:50]_  
Roche says he joined your fanclub too and no one’s shitting on him about it

The stream of angry chocobo emojis after that would be funny, except Zack is now certain that this “fanclub” of his is some trolling bullshit from the other Seconds. There’s absolutely zero reason for Roche to be joining any message board about him. He’s not rising to the bait, will not publicly acknowledge the thing’s existence.

The line moves forward.

 **Zack** _Today at [15:13]_  
I’m back  
Doing okay  
The lab coats are checking us out  
Tell Sephiroth I’ll duel him at dawn for you

 **Cloud** _Today at [15:14]_  
Haha Sephiroth didn’t even get the joke  
He said he’d win though

What? Had Cloud _showed_ him that message? It is the middle of the workday, so it’s not inconceivable. Zack wouldn’t care one way or the other, except to wonder how Cloud had gone from swearing up and down that Sephiroth is a lunatic murderer to sharing stupid jokes with him. How long has he been in Mideel?

He doesn’t get to answer because he’s next in line for the physical exam. The nurse waves him inside with a smile, and Zack’s mood is lifted enough that he musters a thumbs-up in her direction. Cloud being friends with Sephiroth is a good thing. Probably. Maybe. If nothing else, it means that the mako poisoning hasn’t triggered Cloud into rushing him in the cafeteria or something.

Only when he's inside the tent does Zack begin to wonder why a field hospital had been set up when they're back in Midgar, at ShinRa Headquarters, where there's an entire department for the lab coats to do with as they like. He looks around inside the tent, noting that some of the doctors are wearing full hazmat gear and avoiding eye contact. The techs look safe enough, but they're not wearing anything protective besides gloves. Not even a flimsy face mask.

Zack smiles at the one wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. She smiles back nervously, fingers trembling slightly as they brush over his new scar. The thing with spontaneous mako poisoning. The one that got Cloud, supposedly. It has something to do with the rabid monsters. Or the lab coats think so, enough that they're wearing protective gear while examining them.

Then, why not give everyone the suits? ShinRa has Gil flying out the ass. Why not try and protect their techs?

While Zack tries not to glare so the poor girl tending to him can calm down, none other than Professor Hojo himself saunters their way, looking Zack up and down, stroking his chin. He isn’t wearing a hazmat suit, or any protective gear. Zack frowns to himself. Wouldn’t Hojo warrant protective gear, if it’s really necessary? What the hell is going on?

“Get me Specimen Z’s file at once,” Hojo says to the mousy tech following him - also in a white hazmat suit.

“Did you just call me _Specimen Z_ to my face?” demands Zack. The tech taking his blood pressure finishes and all but jumps away from them.

Hojo makes a dismissive noise and reaches for Zack’s newly scarred arm. From fuck knows where, Zack manages to stay still while Hojo passes the pads of his fingers over his scar. The man is clean, but still. . . it’s like an eel from the mako sewers is touching him.

“When and where did you get this scar?” asks Hojo.

“On this mission,” says Zack, yanking his arm away.

He goes on to endure a horrid and inane interrogation while his PHS vibrates to alert him of new messages. Not from the tone he has for work-related stuff, so he can’t even use that as an excuse to cut Hojo off. One of the behemoths got him in the arm. No, the fight wasn’t unusual. Yes, the wound healed as quickly as he expected, except for the scar. Yes, he had full mobility and strength back, as far as he could tell. No, he had not been weaker during the fight. The behemoth had been stronger than expected.

“Doctor, I really would like to go now,” Zack manages to cut in, after the twentieth question or so. “I’m tired.”

Hojo ignores him and turns to his aide. “We need to biopsy that scar.”

“Is that going to take long?” asks Zack. If they ignore him, he’ll just get up and walk out. Let them figure out if they can stop him.

“I just need a couple of minutes to get ready,” the tech tells him, making an appeasing gesture with her gloved hand. “Then, it’ll be over in a few seconds.”

Hojo wanders away while she talks and starts setting up her tools. It’s enough that Zack calms down and lays back on the gurney, putting his arm over his eyes so no one tries to talk to him. Then, his PHS vibrates, and he remembers the messages he’s been getting. He takes it out, hoping, and. . . yes!

 **Cloud** _Today at [15:25]_  
You guys just got back, right? Lazard says the docs have to check you out  
Did something happen?

 **Cloud** _Today at [15:27]_  
I have access to reports now you know  
Sephiroth says it’s easier if I just look at the standard ones myself and approve them for him

What? Approving reports? _Cloud?_ His little, shy Cloud?

 **Cloud** _Today at [15:31]_  
Well it turns out the one from Mideel is classified and now Sephiroth is asking why I’m sticking my nose where I have no business

That makes more sense.

 **Cloud** _Today at [15:32]_  
He says you’re fine and you’re an excellent SOLDIER so I guess he does know who you are btw

 **Zack** _Today at [15:36]_  
I’m fine, just needed a quick physical  
See you later today

The tech asks for his arm, and Zack is so eager to meet up with Cloud that he barely feels the pinch. The tiny wound closes while he mumbles his goodbyes to the tech, and he practically runs out of the tent.

* * *

Cloud also notices Zack’s brand new scar the moment he lays his bright blue eyes on him. It makes him stop in his tracks and puts that now-familiar faraway look on his face. 

“It’s just a scratch,” Zack tells him, trying to smile.

Cloud walks forward, eyes fixed on Zack’s arm, and touches it. He almost never initiates contact of any kind at all, much less the experimental caress to any specific spot. “That’s not supposed to be there.”

“Yeah, I gathered,” says Zack, taking a step back. “I’m fine though; docs already checked me out.”

“You didn’t have scars at all, and then you were full of bullet holes,” says Cloud.

Zack is exhausted of this conversation. He doesn’t bother to correct Cloud, just pulls him into a hug and rubs his back in a shallow attempt to comfort him. The subject of his “death” always sends Cloud into either panic or despondency. Or both. 

Alright, so the mako poisoning isn't getting better. That much should have been undeniable after Cloud started accusing him of cheating the moment Zack asked him out. Zack isn't one to focus on the negative, though, so instead, he'd celebrated that Cloud had said _yes_. Kind of. In a begrudging fashion. Still, Zack hadn't wheedled, emotionally blackmailed, guilted, or done any of the things that would make girls on S.O.N. call him a Nice Guy. Cloud had acted weird because he's being weird about everything lately. Zack doesn't care. He wants to try with Cloud, even if it turns out that he'll spend the rest of his days mako-addled. 

Then he’d gotten sent off before he could even plan out the date, but that’s not too unusual for military people, much as it sucks.

He expects that it'll be awkward to share the apartment now that his feelings are out in the open, but Cloud doesn't seem fazed. They watch movies together as they normally do, cuddling and everything. The next morning, Zack wakes up to the smell of breakfast and grins. Cloud, trying to make himself useful as always. What a shame that he's been at Zack's for weeks and Zack has been off on missions almost the entire time. He should put in a request for leave, or at least a few guaranteed weekends off. 

By the time he gets to the kitchen, Cloud is already by the door, straightening his cadet uniform and slipping on his boots. 

"You start work early," says Zack. 

"Been working since five, technically," says Cloud, waving the PHS he has on-hand. "Just stayed behind to make you some breakfast. I figured since I didn’t go home last night, I might as well make myself useful."

So Lazard had assigned him a place of his own, at some point. And Cloud had taken it.

"Right," says Zack. He bites the side of his cheek to resist telling Cloud to stay with him. It's normal that Cloud wants his own space.

"You should come; it’s a nice apartment close to Sephiroth’s floor," says Cloud, as he heads to the door. “That just adds fuel to all the rumors about us fucking, but whatever. I’m done caring about that.”

"You are?" It's good, but a few weeks ago, Cloud had shrivelled up at the mere reminder of all the rumors about his supposed sex escapades. 

"What am I supposed to do?" shrugs Cloud, straightening his uniform. "Be homeless because they run their mouths? I should've gotten over it sooner and asked Lazard for an apartment right away."

"Maybe, but I'm glad you stayed here," admits Zack. 

"I'll come back tonight," says Cloud, cheeks pink and eyes somewhere around the floor. 

That's more like the sweet, shy Cloud Zack remembers. He waves Cloud off, then goes to enjoy that breakfast while catching up on the morning news.


	21. Social Media Aliases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward found family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan is to run a 10k tomorrow morning before the heat gets too suffocating, hence posting this kinda early.

ShinRa's news are divided into two main categories: stuff people should be afraid of, and stuff they absolutely should purchase. The latter to help with the former.

So crap about dangerous ecoterrorist extremism paired with gushing fluff pieces about their beautification efforts. "Candids" of Rhapsodos that probably took an entire production team to arrange. Scarlet's dresses. Endless speculation about Sephiroth's hair. The superficial update to the latest PHS model.

Nothing about mysterious mako poisoning or monsters made rabid by corrupted mako. It’s like Mideel didn’t happen at all. Zack bites his lower lip, then shrugs and bites into a delicious piece of ham. If it all blows up, he'll deal with it. He won't have another option. In the meantime, he has an important date to plan.

For once, his mission roster is blissfully empty, so he gets to daydream about his options all the way to the SOLDIER rec center. Since he's known Cloud for so long, they've already done all the first date activities: movies, dinner, dancing, museums, fancy restaurants, sightseeing. They've done it all, sometimes with Kunsel tagging along. Zack would shell out for one of the high class joints, but Cloud's sensitive about money - half the night would be wasted reassuring him. Motorcycle riding would have been an option, but they've done that too. It's like they've already been dating for a year.

"Zack!" Luxiere greets when he gets to the gym, waving his hand. "It feels like you've been on a mission nonstop forever, man."

"I'm asking for time off soon," says Zack, walking towards him. "Where is everyone?"

"Angeal's giving a seminar," says Luxiere. "Gonna head over there soon."

"Yeah, let's go." With all the daydreaming about Cloud, he'd all but forgotten about Angeal's training accident.

Angeal seems okay during his seminar, almost. He's not as hands-on as usual, opting for observing SOLDIERs practice moves against each other and then correcting their stances, though he's as commanding and engaging as always. He delegates the instruction of blocking maneuvers to Zack and Roche after a quick demonstration, ones that require them to hold still while newly enhanced Thirds whale on them. Zack might not have noticed the difference if he wasn't looking for it, but he is, and so he catches Angeal grimacing when one of the Thirds manages to sneak past his guard and he has to roll out of a broadsword's range.

Roche catches him looking and raises an eyebrow. Hopefully, the problem is not so obvious that Roche caught it too. Not that it would be obvious just because Roche caught it. As much as Zack hates to admit it, Roche isn't dumb. Just rich and dramatic.

After the seminar is over, Angeal asks Zack to stay behind to help him clean up. Good, since it spares Zack from having to fish for an excuse to chase him down.

"You good, sir?" asks Zack, as he rolls up mats.

"I've seen better days," says Angeal, waving a hand. "But you've been out so much I thought you'd been deployed to the frontlines of some secret war."

"Nah, just monster hunting," says Zack, knowing himself well enough to know he might have a meltdown if he thinks about Mideel too hard. He doesn't know how much the Firsts know about that shitshow, but he doesn't want to be adding to Angeal's stress either way. "You're the one who ended up in the hospital."

"Oh, that." Angeal tries to shrug it off, but Zack catches the grimace that takes over his face. "Just me getting old. You know Gen and Seph are about a decade younger."

"Come on, you're like thirty," says Zack, sitting on the floor.

"Thirty-three," corrects Angeal, with a small smile. He sits down in front of Zack and sighs.

"Angeal, are you really okay?" Zack leans forward. "You were holding back today; it was kind of obvious."

"I have to make sure you brats can take care of yourselves," says Angeal. "Enough about me, though. Have you finally made a move on Strife?"

It's an obvious diversion tactic, but Zack is always more than happy to talk about Cloud. "As a matter of fact," he says, with a satisfied smile, "I asked him on a date."

"And if that smirk is anything to go by, he said yes."

"Of course," says Zack. Going forward, he'll just pretend he didn't spend literal months agonizing about his feelings. What's the point in upsetting himself? "How's he doing with the secretary job?"

"Zero complaints from anyone that matters," says Angeal. "He's a good kid, actually gets along with Sephiroth better than most- What?"

Zack couldn't hide his frown in time. "Nothing; Cloud just said Sephiroth is. . . intimidating."

"Well, yeah," agrees Angeal. "Props for little Strife for not showing it, even in the beginning. He alright with Sephiroth's tutoring? I’ve been meaning to look into that, but I just haven’t had time, and now it’s been over a month."

Zack grimaces, tries to cover for it with a shrug. "It's been a crazy month." For a moment, he considers telling Angeal about the weird side effects of Cloud's mako poisoning. "I haven't even had time to ask about the particulars of this tutoring, either, just heard the rumors."

"Seph says it's fine, but I have my doubts about his teaching abilities," says Angeal. "Take the kid for a couple of spars and tell me if there's no improvement. I'll step in if I have to."

"Isn't that kind of going over the General?"

Angeal shakes his head. "Let me worry about Sephiroth. He just wants what's best for Strife, ultimately."

That would be a good thing, if only Cloud wasn't insisting that Sephiroth would hurt him. With about as much certainty as he agonizes over Zack's death, so that should be taken with a grain of salt.

It sounds like that’s over, anyway. Cloud had barely mentioned Sephiroth last night. The few times he had, it had been in the context of work.

"Hey, what's on your mind?" asks Angeal.

"Just thinking about where to take Cloud on our first date," says Zack. Since it's not entirely a lie, it comes out smoothly enough.

"Easy," says Angeal. "Take him to a motorcycle mechanic, or something. That's how Roche's been getting his attention."

Zack frowns at that. Then, he smiles. He knows a place that Roche wouldn't ever think of that Cloud would take to like a cat to heavy cream.

They keep cleaning up in silence after that and finish in a matter of minutes. Angeal perks up as they work, moving as gracefully as ever, and Zack starts to wonder if he didn't imagine the man's unease. Is Cloud's paranoia rubbing off on him?

Almost as if he'd been summoned by Zack's musings, Cloud walks into the rec center. Zack's eyes zero in on him with laser precision, caught by the glimmer of the lights making his bright blond hair shine. He almost doesn't notice General Sephiroth himself walking by Cloud's side, silver bangs framing his face as he shows Cloud something on the screen of his PHS. Cloud stands on the tips of his toes to get a better look, then Sephiroth notices and brings his hand down so Cloud can see the screen better. Whatever is on it makes Cloud look up at Sephiroth and grin. So much for thinking that Sephiroth is a ravaging murderer, then.

Cloud senses his gaze and looks over. He waves, then something comes over him and he looks down.

"Seph!" calls out Angeal.

They start walking towards them, and Zack stands to salute at Sephiroth. Once the General nods, he smiles at Cloud, who responds by blushing as red as a Bomb about to go off. He'd been perfectly natural in the morning, meaning the issue must be Sephiroth.

"Glad to see you back at the gym," Angeal tells Sephiroth.

"I do have duties to attend to," says Sephiroth, nodding. "Strife, go choose your weapon."

"Yes, sir."

"You guys are going to spar," says Zack, as Cloud runs off to the weapons rack. It still doesn’t seem real.

"He's not skilled enough yet to spar with me," says Sephiroth.

"Right, my bad," says Zack.

"Mind if we watch?" asks Angeal.

"It's a public gym," shrugs Sephiroth. "If you like, you can come for dinner tonight. And Genesis, of course."

"Of course," says Angeal, with a warm smile.

Cloud comes back with a broadsword that's almost as big as he is. That he can even dream of using it in a training session at all is another sign of mako poisoning - Zack had been focusing on strength training with Cloud before everything got turned on its head. Cloud has great reflexes and enough endurance to make an ox jealous, but he's still lithe and thin. He can't defend himself with a weapon that weighs him down.

Or he couldn't.

Watching him train with Sephiroth gives Zack an odd sense of vertigo, and not because it's Sephiroth. He's been play-fighting and training with Cloud for a year, and feelings aside, Cloud isn't a particularly talented swordsman. He’s hesitant and impatient, while also being too self-critical.

Or he had been.

And now, Cloud has all that shit down. Sephiroth adjusts his stances by a few millimeters here and there, but other than that. . .

"He's astronomically better than he was at the tournament," says Angeal, as Sephiroth is actually forced to change the course of a sidestep at the last second.

"What?" mumbles Zack, watching as Cloud tries to slip under Sephiroth's guard, trying to use his small size to his advantage rather than overcompensating for it.

"He fights like I trained him," says Angeal.

"I was gonna say he fights like. . . me," says Zack, as Cloud rolls away from a series of slashes from Sephiroth's blade.

"My point stands," says Angeal.

"Mako poisoning doesn't do this," says Zack.

On Cloud's next strike, he overreaches and slips. He tries to straighten, but Sephiroth pushes him forward and aims the tip of his kodachi to the back of Cloud's neck. It's the obvious time to yield, but Cloud tenses. For a moment, Zack's certain that Cloud's gone on another spiral of mako-induced nonsense and that he'll have to intervene. His muscles tense-

"Yield," says Cloud, dropping his practice broadsword.

Sephiroth immediately takes a step back, then offers Cloud a helping hand.

"We have to keep this jump in skill under wraps for as long as possible," says Angeal, as Sephiroth helps Cloud to his feet.

"That cat's kinda out of the bag, chief," says Zack.

Sephiroth says something to Cloud, then waves at Angeal and heads out of the gym.

"Not yet," says Angeal. "The common theory is that he's been hiding his skills. Tell him not to argue with that too much. In a few months, he can just say Seph awakened his potential or some dramatic shit like that."

Cloud bends down to get the broadsword back, pauses, then walks over to Zack and Angeal.

"Kid, who taught you to fight?" asks Angeal.

"It's the mako," says Cloud, shrugging. "I have to go help Commander Rhapsodos with a poem thing."

"Now you’re an academic too," says Zack, ruffling Cloud's hair.

"I can still come tonight and make you dinner," says Cloud, looking at Zack's boots. "But only if you want; I know you're tired from the missions and. . . stuff." He looks over at Angeal, blushes, and looks at his feet.

"No, I want you to come," says Zack. "I didn't work today, so I'll cook for once."

"What, you plan to fry a chocolate bar?" teases Angeal.

"That'd be an interesting meal, if nothing else," says Zack, smiling at Cloud. "I'll handle it one way or another; you get back to work and leave it to me."

* * *

That Saturday, Sephiroth sends a message to their group chat.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [09:13]_  
I can cook tonight if you guys want to come over.

That's when Genesis is certain that the great Silver General has done away with his guilt about almost killing Angeal. It took less than a week, and Angeal still flinches at odd moments, as if electrocuted.

 **Angeal** _Today at [09:13]_  
I'm in  
Do your magic with a rib-eye. And that thing with spinach.

 **Genesis** _Today at [09:14]_  
I want tiramisu.

Mostly because he knows it's a difficult cake to bake. And Sephiroth doesn't like baking in the first place. There's no reason for him not to work hard to get back in their good graces after attempted murder.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [09:14]_  
Okay

They haven't spent an entire evening together since the fiasco - no, since Strife had been assigned to them. The time they talked about Sephiroth’s possible momentary madness doesn’t count. Despite everything, Genesis grudgingly admits that he's looking forward to it. Sephiroth's food is magnificent (not to mention that it's probably the only time that Sephiroth is ever subservient), and Angeal makes sure to pick a truly dumb movie to unwind with after. Genesis and Angeal had gotten together during one of their dinners, one fateful night when Sephiroth had been called away by President ShinRa.

Genesis spends longer than is probably necessary to pick his outfit - both Angeal and Sephiroth will be in workout clothes, and there won't be anyone around to take pictures. He likes clothes, though, so he picks soft slacks and a burgundy kimono in the Wutain style. Angeal will appreciate the look, much as he likes to pretend that he's not concerned with aesthetics.

Considering the deep kiss he gets in front of Sephiroth's door, he's right. Sephiroth opens the door while they're at it, and Genesis can't hide a grin at his wide green eyes.

"Confused, my dear?" asks Genesis.

"You're such a dick," Angeal tells him, as they enter Sephiroth's apartment. "That smells amazing!"

It looks amazing, too. Genesis appreciates art and aesthetics, and the way Sephiroth has lovingly arranged each steak, green vegetables on one side and colorful peppers on the other, evokes the image of a feast for gods. He takes a picture of the food and shares it on S.O.N. with a short prayer of thanks to the old Gods. Since Sephiroth insists on not bringing attention to his cooking, he gets to not name the chef.

It tastes amazing, as well. Genesis lets Angeal handle the gratitude and praise, offering only a satisfied smile, and starts discussing the merits of the new _Loveless_ adaptation. Neither Angeal nor Sephiroth has seen it, perhaps because they've been prejudiced by the cat-themed costume design. To be fair, Genesis himself had been put off at first, but there's more to the production than the furry gimmick.

"The actress who plays The Goddess is sublime," says Genesis, as Sephiroth cuts the tiramisu. "She alone is worth the ticket price."

"You said as much on S.O.N.," says Sephiroth.

Genesis looks up, surprised.

"Since when do you know what's going on on S.O.N.?" asks Angeal.

Sephiroth shrugs. "I've been paying more attention since Eggpocalypse."

For a moment, Genesis is caught off-guard. Sephiroth, using S.O.N. lingo. . . What next? Will he shave his head?

"Really?" says Angeal. "Are you going to start posting?"

"From my anonymous account," says Sephiroth.

"You finally made one?" asks Genesis.

"Strife convinced me," says Sephiroth.

"Dude, we've been trying to convince you for like a year," says Angeal. "What in Gaia did Strife say?"

Genesis is curious about that as well, but he's glad that Angeal is the one to voice the question.

"Well, he only suggested it once," says Sephiroth, shrugging and not making eye contact. "I guess it's more accurate to say that Eggpocalypse convinced me. What if I ever want to interact with some other post?"

"From Strife?" asks Genesis, mildly.

"From anyone," says Sephiroth.

"Okay, so what's your alt account?" asks Angeal, again saving Genesis from having to pose the question himself.

"It's not very anonymous if I tell you guys about it," says Sephiroth.

"Oh, come on!" says Angeal. "The Turks are definitely gonna figure it out!"

"Gen followed Strife, and that's what started Eggpocalypse," says Sephiroth.

"It most certainly was _not_ ," says Genesis. "I was not dumb enough to interact with a six-month-old post."

"Regardless," says Sephiroth, "if either of you follows my anon account, you'll attract undue attention to it."

"Neither of us would follow it, you imbecile."

"Guys, let's not go back down this road," says Angeal.

Belatedly, Genesis remembers that it was an argument about who was responsible for the egg nonsense that resulted in Angeal's injury. His cheeks grow hot and he looks down, tamping down an urge to launch himself at Sephiroth and rip his gorgeous hair right out of its roots.

"Fine," huffs Sephiroth, with a challenging look towards Genesis. "I want to discuss Tuesti's request, anyway."

"To help with construction near the slums?" asks Angeal. "Doesn't sound like something the suits would go for."

"Why not?" asks Sephiroth. "SOLDIERS must be paid, regardless, and the materials and machinery needed have already been bought."

"Also, think of the publicity," says Genesis.

"You're for this?" asks Angeal. "Operating oily machinery and lifting concrete."

"I'm for the Thirds doing it while I look at them authoritatively," says Genesis, with a one-sided shrug.

Angeal chuckles.

"I would help, but I suspect my presence would be more disruptive than helpful," says Sephiroth.

That's definitely true. Why Sephiroth sounds so dejected about it, though, is a mystery.

The rest of the evening goes by easily, with quiet companionship and classical music in the background. Genesis feels his anger diffusing about as quickly as it formed - much as he hates to admit it, Angeal is right about one thing: Sephiroth is difficult to hate. He is eager to please, but not so much that it makes him automatically deferential (and thus, boring). And his cooking really is unparalleled. If he cooked for anyone else, he might be more famous for cuisine than his swordsmanship.

The moment Angeal fully recovered, everything will go back to normal. Including their relationship.


	22. Dress Uniform?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from home and some wardrobe malfunction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than I planned, but American politics. . . well, let's just say we are not doing well over here and I spruced this up as much as I could.

Cloud is obsessing about his date with Zack (it's not supposed to happen, it just isn't; Zack isn't _for_ him) the next time he goes to his little ShinRa-issued mailbox. He checks it maybe once a month just to clear out all the spam about crap that he absolutely must buy immediately because Reasons. None of them are coherent, but the courier from the mailroom will complain if Cloud doesn't clean his mailbox. The self-appointed task should have been completed last week, but Cloud's life had been a little hectic, to put it mildly.

Should he wear something nice for the date with Zack? It's important to put in effort on the first date, right? Cloud wouldn't know, since he's never been on one. He's going over his sparse wardrobe in his head as he flips through his correspondence, dejected because not a single item in his closet could be considered fancy, when he finds a letter from Nibelheim.

Cloud's heart skips a beat. He knows that it's from Tifa, even though there's no return address - the fine, careful handwriting inked on the blue envelope is as specific as a picture. Blue is Tifa's favorite color ( _It reminds me of the sky, and your eyes she'd said to Cloud once)._ Carefully, Cloud separates the letter from the advertisement trash. He throws the spam in the garbage can and holds Tifa's envelope up against the anemic lightbulb in the mailroom. She'd written in thick paper, or there's more than one page inside.

Smiling to himself, Cloud practically runs back to his new studio apartment. It's in the SOLDIER's barracks, same as Zack's place, but way bigger and near the top floor. Someone wants him to be close to the Firsts, he guesses. The view of Midgar’s star ocean at night is stunning. It makes Cloud dizzy. He could go back to Zack's whenever he wants - might have to if Zack decides he really does want Cloud to be his boyfriend. An odd way to think about it, sure, but accurate nonetheless. Zack should get what he wants. If that turns out to be Cloud, for some unfathomable reason, then so be it.

Cloud goes to his uncomfortably large apartment, sits by the oak desk that probably costs about as much as his monthly salary, and carefully opens Tifa's envelope. As expected, the letter is from her.

__Dear Cloud,_ _

__I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write back to you. My dad's having a bit of a tizzy because your ma went and set up a trap for a Nibel dragon that actually kind of chased one of them off._ _

Cloud smirks. He doesn't know why old man Lockhart complained, but he can guess.

__Don't get me wrong, the way she set off that small explosive by the foot of the mountain was inventive, and it seems to have worked. But she didn't tell anyone about it, so anyone could've been caught in the avalanche she caused, not just the dragon. Allegedly. I went to the spot where the avalanche supposedly happened, but I didn't see that much commotion. Your ma said it was just noise and a bit of a flurry to scare the dragon. Maybe she was right._ _

Of course she was. No way Claudia would set off a real explosion that could hurt people without warning anyone, even though most assholes at Nibelheim took great pride in ignoring her. It's inexplicable to Cloud that Claudia had had the strength of character to flee her old mountain tribe but tolerates the petty bullshit coming from Nibelheim's townspeople. It isn't his place to ask, though, which Claudia had pointed out every time he got frustrated and demanded that they leave, find his father, something. He can’t remember the last time he'd bothered to try and convince her to abandon Nibelheim.

__Anyway, it looks like the dragon issue is kinda resolved for now. My dad was talking about putting a call out for ShinRa's help, which he does all the time and they never listen._ _

ShinRa would only listen once the dragons got to the mako reactor.

 _Nothing else has_ __been going on, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, but my life here in Nibelheim isn't anywhere as exciting as yours sounds. That's part of the reason it's taken me so long to write back. I guess I was hoping for something to happen that was worth writing about, but we've just had snow and petty arguments, like usual. Your letters have been the most interesting thing in my life for a while.__

__Gaia, that sounds a little pathetic, doesn't it?_ _

It doesn't. Tifa is too good for Nibelheim and the opportunists who can't see past her father's comparatively meager wealth.

__You'll have to forgive me, but I'm going to spend the rest of this letter responding to every little thing you wrote in yours._ _

__Well, I should first say that Claudia is doing well. Since you left, she's been exploring around the mountain more and edging out further into the wilderness. She has the heart of a wolf, I swear. Or Freya, the one in her stories. She found a fully formed Materia the other day - blue, but we can't figure out what it does._ _

All Materia. Cloud will find it when. . . He would find it, and thinking about the when hurts his head.

__Since you left, she's been spending more time with me, too. Or, to be more honest, I've been sneaking off to talk to her, and she's been letting me tag along when she's not going too far off. I'm sure you know, but your ma is such a badass._ _

Cloud agrees, but he doesn't like thinking of his ma hanging out with the mayor's daughter. Nibelheim already blamed Cloud for Tifa's accident all that time ago. Nevertheless. . . Don't let prey control your actions, my little Stormcloud. Tifa could learn to stand up for herself a little more, and there isn't a better teacher for that than Claudia Strife.

__And much more talkative than you, by the way. All the little things you used to do make more sense now, like all the times you stared up at the sky before heading somewhere. You were looking at the stars and thinking about all the stories, weren't you?_ _

Yes, while Tifa talked to him, anyway. He gets tongue-tied around her sometimes to this day, even after they'd been married for over a decade.

Wait, nevermind. Just confused mako thoughts. Not the part about being tongue-tied, the. . . other thing. Cloud isn't going to focus on it, just on the things he knows are real: Tifa, asking him how he's doing with a soft, welcoming smile. Him, freezing up and looking away, looking anywhere, but specially up at the stars where the stories of Odin and his patheon would soothe him. Barely. Other times, he used the stars for land navigation while taking the less-traveled paths - sometimes off the roads altogether, to avoid bullies.

Then, he'd moved to Midgar, and the star ocean of electric lights had all but blotted out the real sky. The longer Cloud goes without seeing Odin's heaven, the harder it becomes to interpret it.

The rest of Tifa's letter is in fact a breakdown of Cloud's own missive - the crowds, the stink of mako that permeates the air even in the wealthier suburbs, and the rumors about the Firsts that dominate Midgar's magazines. Apparently, Cloud had written about S.O.N. and some rumor about Hewley and Rhapsodos' relationship causing a rift in the group. Cloud doesn't remember it, much less why he had cared enough about it to include it in a letter to Tifa.

He folds the letter carefully and puts it in his drawer, trying not to dwell on how he'd destroyed the last letter he'd written to Tifa. Sending it with all those mako thoughts in their full, unhinged glory would obviously have been a mistake, but there's no reason why he hasn't sat down and written a proper letter in the days since. Now isn't a good time, either. Zack's gonna pick him up for their date in less than an hour, and Cloud hasn't gotten ready. He doesn't even have that many clothes - no dress clothes at all besides the cadet formal uniform that Cloud assumes Zack is not expecting. Except, maybe Zack is expecting it. Frantically, Cloud pulls out his PHS (he's taken to calling the non-essential work PHS as "his").

 **Cloud** _Today at [15:15]_  
Should I wear my dress uniform?

 **Zack** _Today at [15:15]_  
For what?

 **Cloud** _Today at [15:15]_  
Nvm  
I figured it out

He hasn't, but there isn't much to be done on such short notice. Cloud goes to his closet and picks out a pair of dark cargo pants and an indigo shirt. Someone (Tifa) once told him that blue clothes make his eyes stand out.

* * *

Higher in the SOLDIER residential skyscraper, Zack states down at Cloud's message, befuddled. Cloud couldn't have been asking about a dress uniform for their date. Could he? Is Cloud expecting some kind of tour through Midgar high society? No, that doesn’t sound like Cloud. Not even mako-addled Cloud, who might assume that Zack would be taking them somewhere that might result in death. The important thing is that he hasn’t cancelled the date, regardless of what he’s been imagining.

Zack’s having trouble picking an outfit, too. He wants to look nice for his first date, but the spot he’s picked doesn’t lend itself to fancy suits. Or even expensive street clothes.

It's not like Cloud hasn't seen you in everything from your dress uniform to sweatpants and a wife beater with pasta sauce stains, he thinks, before groaning and just putting on something clean and comfortable. To add a dash of fashion, he puts on an old blue shirt that brings out his eyes, then a biking leather jacket over it. Then he takes a deep breath and grabs his keys.

Predictably, Zack's heart races as he knocks on Cloud's door. Depending on how this goes, he might lose his best friend. Oh, not in some dramatic blowout, but there's zero chance that Cloud won't distance himself if the date turns out to be an awkward shitshow. Hell, Zack might want some distance himself. He's not sure he can be around Cloud knowing that his romantic feelings have no hope of reciprocation.

Cloud opens the door, staring with wide, blue eyes. It seems he had the same idea about the blue shirt.

"We match," says Zack, gesturing at their chests.

"Oh," says Cloud, looking down at their feet. "Blue eyes, y'know?"

"I know," says Zack, heart aching at how nervous Cloud looks. Gently, he slips his fingers under Cloud's chin, guiding him to look up. "It's just me, Spike. No matter what happens, I'm not gonna be mad."

"Okay," breathes Cloud. "I know you're fine, Zack. It's just. . . the mako."

"If you need to stay. . ." Zack can't really bring himself to finish the sentence. Not without hiding his disappointment.

"No, I have to get used to it," says Cloud. "There's no cure for mako poisoning."

"Then let's do it," says Zack, trying for an encouraging smile.

He takes a hold of Cloud's hand, and they've held hands long enough that it's not even awkward. Cloud even chuckles to himself, and then they're off.

The motorcycle ride does wonders to relax Cloud, and isn't it a trip that sweet and gentle Cloud gets his rocks off travelling at speeds that would rip his body to pieces if Zack ever lost control of the motorcycle?

_"Hey, are we going below the plate?" yells Cloud, when they slow down for the QR monitor._

_"Better," Zack shouts back._

_It's a bit of a risk, where they're going, but Zack can handle it. He's a Second Class SOLDIER, for Gaia's sake, and he has a date to impress._


	23. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It only took a novella to get to this date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get to this part of the story so here we go. Idk if this is even good, but it's honestly like one of the first scenes I came up with so basically it's the reason this story even exists.
> 
> Thanks to my friend Ro, who has been editing through this thing since March. Without her, this would be incomprehensible.

Cloud doesn't ask any more questions, not even when Zack goes through the highways, past the exit that would take them to the slums beneath the steel sky. They're going to the outskirts of Midgar, by the arid tundra where only a few ShinRa lookouts and assorted mercenaries congregate. It's people who don't live by ShinRa's rules, though they make sure to slip under the radar - or cause just the kind of trouble that makes it worthwhile for ShinRa to look the other way. There's more than a slight possibility that Zack's bike will not be where he left it, at least not in one piece, so he has to park within eyesight of the clandestine mech shop they're visiting.

Zack feels Cloud looking around when he turns off the motor. His hands briefly tighten into fists by Zack's sides. There are few dusty men lounging about the caravan of misfits, all armed with wicked swords or guns. Zack doesn't recognize any of them, not that he's been in the area often enough that he knows many people. More men will be lurking inside the large tent by the warehouse - the shop with no name operating from a half-demolished and abandoned ShinRa building. It looks like a storage building to Zack, but rumor has it that human experiments were done in there.

"I've been here before," says Cloud.

"I highly doubt that, Spike," Zack says gently, turning to look at him.

Cloud gets off the bike, still looking around with furrowed eyebrows. The men around gaze at him with suspicion, some with their hands hovering by their weapons.

"Damnit," mumbles Zack, getting off and parking. It's not the place to wander around looking high as fuck, which Cloud can do very easily, since he's so small and sports mako-infused eyes. "Cloud!"

Already, one of the mercs is walking forward to talk to Cloud. Zack lengthens his strides and puts an arm around Cloud's shoulders, putting his body between him and the merch without a care for subtlety.

"Hi!" Zack grins at the man. "Loving the scars and the look in general." Vertical slash over his left eye and a half-shaved head? Zack doesn't even mean the compliment sarcastically.

"What do you two ShinRa scum want?" demands the man. Behind him, his buddies stare, tense and ready to back him up.

"We want to see Lyra," says Cloud, before Zack can try to diffuse the situation.

How the fuck does Cloud know that name?

"She don't deal with ShinRa lapdogs," says the man.

"We're not here in a business capacity," says Zack, going for some Tseng-level faux-congeniality. "I just want my bike modded by the best of the best."

"She'll want to see me," says Cloud.

"Why?"

"She'll definitely want to see my money," says Zack, before Cloud can start with some incoherent mako-ramblings.

Then Cloud says something in the Old Tongue that Zack doesn't understand, except for the word "bike". It all sounds like a quick continuous sound. The merc's eyes widen, and he stares down at Cloud in open shock. Cloud says something else. The merc responds, and Zack hears his surprise though he doesn't understand the words. In less than a minute, the merc is nodding and going to the open warehouse, presumably to find Lyra.

Zack looks down at Cloud and raises an eyebrow.

"He says my accent sounds like shit," says Cloud, shrugging. "I only ever talked to my ma before, and then. . ." Cloud stares off into the distance, and his voice goes low. "I had to find a job after we killed Sephiroth, so I got a bike to deliver stuff all over Gaia, and I found Lyra's caravan."

"You killed Sephiroth?"

"Like three times," says Cloud. "He keeps coming back."

Before Zack can even begin to examine that nonsense, the merc returns with a tall, dark-skinned woman with broad shoulders and a buzz cut. The infamous Lyra. Zack had spoken to her a grand total of two times before today, once when he got separated from his platoon while hunting mako-corrupted wolves (they'd almost shot him on sight, and probably would have if Zack hadn't chased the wolves away from their caravan), and a second time a couple of days ago, when Zack had charmed Lyra into taking a look at his bike. She nods at Zack as she approaches, then turns her gaze towards Cloud.

She fires something in the Old Tongue, tone too blank for Zack to decipher. Cloud responds, stepping out from under Zack's loose embrace. An exchange that Zack can't comprehend ensues, with Lyra swinging from wary to amused to angry. Zack hangs back, trying to look menacing, though no one's paying enough attention to appreciate his efforts. He doesn't know what Cloud is saying, but his tone is alien. What happened to his sweet Cloud, who deals with bullies by avoiding them? Not that Lyra strikes Zack as a bully, just a rather intimidating person.

Eventually, Lyra turns to look at Zack's bike, using a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She snorts, then says something to Cloud.

"She says your bike is over-complicated ShinRa trash," Cloud tells him.

Sure, what the hell does Zack know. "Good thing I brought it to her, then. Tell her I said that."

"I can understand you, brat," says Lyra, without looking at him.

"Oh, yeah," says Zack. Duh. He'd actually talked to her before. "Well, I forgot, since you're all being rude talking in a language I don't understand."

"Sorry," says Cloud.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," says Zack, quickly. Great. The date is going great.

"I have to fix this," says Lyra, marching over to the bike.

Cloud takes a step closer to Zack and grabs his wrist. "The Old Folks who go around in caravans like the Old Tongue better," he says, in a low voice. "It's like a thing with them. She'll do better with the bike if I stick to the Old Tongue, shitty accent and all."

"Right," says Zack, though he's starting to suspect the whole thing was a bad idea.

Not that Zack has anything against the Old Tongue, like some folks back in Gongaga who swore that their women steal babies to make stew from their organs and other equally dramatic bullshit. He'd just been hoping to do something _with_ Cloud, not watch him talk to Lyra about bike stuff. That's pretty much what happens, with Zack standing aside not understanding what's going on. More so than usual. At least Cloud obviously enjoys himself.

Lots of very specific fun. Zack may not understand what they're saying, but it's obvious that Cloud is very familiar with the technical aspects of bike maintenance. A month prior, Cloud had been a hobbyist, albeit one with lots of genuine interest. Had Roche taught him that much? Not that Roche is much of a mechanic. Just a rich dude cosplaying one.

"Do you mind if we take it apart to see the motor?" he asks.

"That's what we're here for," says Zack, shrugging.

Cloud nods, then Lyra says something and they get to work.

It would be hot to watch Cloud expertly handle the tools that one of the mercs brings over on Lyra's orders. He takes out the screws with a level of confidence that's unusual, including tiny ones that require whirring electrical tools. Occasionally, he exchanges a few words with Lyra before applying what Zack assumes is some type of oil. At one point, he wipes his cheek with a dirty hand and frowns before wiping off the oil with the hem of his shirt.

That's when Zack notices the abs.

Zack is intimately aware of what Cloud looks like shirtless. From going to the pool, not any other creepy reasons. And Cloud most definitely is not supposed to have a bonafide six-pack. He's freaking seventeen and scrawny, often going days eating like a bird due to a stress-suppressed appetite.

"Zack, you mind if we switch out the engine?"

"Huh?"

"Lyra has an older one," says Cloud, "but she kept it in good condition, and this shit would explode if pushed too far. You get a bit of a speed boost because it's so light, but it's not worth it."

"Change whatever you like," says Zack. Only reason he got the bike in the first place was to impress Cloud.

It finally seems to be working. Cloud gives him a broad smile and fires something to Lyra in the Old Tongue. It's the first time in a long time that Zack has seen him so openly joyous. It might be the first time ever.

Sadly, it's happening in the context of mako poisoning. If that's what it is. Zack is no doctor, but he knows mako poisoning doesn't give people a six-pack or knowledge of random nomads, much less expert mechanical skills. Or a confidence boost. Well, it does sometimes, but the delusional, euphoric type that makes people jump out of skyscrapers because they think they can fly.

And it’s not supposed to improve a person’s swordsmanship, certainly not enough that they can spar with Sephiroth. Kind of. He couldn’t beat Sephiroth or anything, but just the fact that the general wasn’t bored while tutoring him was notable. Nevermind that, anyway. Mako poisoning did not turn people into accomplished mechanics capable of impressing the Old Folk. Is it possible that Cloud’s ramblings aren’t as deluded as they sound?

"I guess this hasn't been much of a date, has it?" Cloud asks, as Lyra wipes her hands with a cloth and gazes at the bike with satisfaction.

"It's okay," says Zack. "You look happy, so it's a success in my book."

Cloud smiles, but he doesn't blush, and he usually does so at the drop of a hat. It's like he's another person.

"I know a place close by," says Cloud. "If we could just. . . Hold on."

He rushes after Lyra, shouting something in the Old Tongue. Zack watches them talking for a few moments, then heads to his bike, heart heavy. The date, which had all but consumed him, seems insignificant now. What's wrong with Cloud? It isn't mako poisoning, or not _just_ that.

Moments later, Cloud comes back armed with a scimitar, its sharp edge gleaming against the afternoon sun.

"I haven't used one of these in ages," he says, testing its weight. "But I figure it's the same principle as any other sword. It'll do for where we're going."

Zack doesn't ask when was the last time he wielded a scimitar for fear that Cloud will spiral into another impossible, rambling story. Though he might not - scimitars are not common swords, but ShinRa prides itself on its selection of esoteric weapons. Maybe Cloud tried one out with some Third asshole. Seems like the kind of flashy weapon Roche would go for.

"Mind if I drive?" asks Cloud.

"Uh." Motorcycle riding, at least at the SOLDIER speeds that Zack has gotten used to - and gotten Cloud used to - is dangerous. "Okay, but you have to be careful, not a speed demon."

"There's no traffic around here," says Cloud. "Besides, I've been riding for years."

"Cloud, I got this bike less than three months ago."

For a second, it looks like Cloud is going to argue. Then he looks at Zack's face and his shoulders sag. "Okay, you're right. I'll be careful."

Zack nods, gesturing at the bike. It's supposed to be a date, not the time to sit down and mother Cloud about how he should be careful. How the mako makes people believe crazy things. Carefully, he slides behind Cloud on the bike, trying to ignore how odd the position feels. He puts his arms around Cloud's waist, mickmicking Cloud's movements when he's the passenger, but Cloud is much too small. He's pretty sure that he'll limit Cloud's mobility in this position.

"Hold on to the handles on the rear fender," says Cloud, unconcerned.

Zack does so and yeah, it's more comfortable that way. The bike runs smoother too, though that might just be because riding as a passenger is more fun and relaxed than driving, not evidence that Lyra and Cloud's tinkering actually did anything. Zack's not concerned with that either way, but he does pay close attention to Cloud's driving so he can take over if something goes wrong. Cloud's small enough that he can just sit on Zack's lap, head tucked under Zack's chin, if it comes to that.

A few minutes into the ride, Zack relaxes. However little sense it might make is irrelevant - Cloud _is_ an excellent rider, even when he gets to the unpaved outskirts of Midgar. He evades the larger rocks without issues, maintaining control of the bike when it jumps or skids over obstacles hiding beneath the gravel. Zack starts worrying more about how far Cloud's riding, way farther than Zack intended them to go. Wolves and Bombs are lurking about, ready to pounce the moment they slow down. Zack can take them, but guarding Cloud from the wildlife had also not been on his date itinerary.

He's a second away from telling Cloud that they need to turn back when Cloud brings the bike to a smooth stop. A pair of wolves fix their gazes on them, obviously trying to decide if they've found their next meal, while Cloud gazes up a ravine with narrow eyes.

"Spike," says Zack, as the wolves growl.

"This is where it happened," mumbles Cloud.

"Great," says Zack. "Wait by the bike, okay? I'll be _right_ back."

He rushes the wolves, firing a lightning spell that fries one and startles the other. Not enough to keep it from leaping at Zack, who slaps it out of the air with the sharp edge of his Buster Sword. The fried wolf lurches on its legs, growling. Zack cleaves its head with the Buster Sword, then fires another lightning spell at the remaining wolf. He waits until they've vanished into the Lifestream, then turns back to look at Cloud.

"Damnit," hisses Zack.

It took maybe twenty seconds, and Cloud's gone off to climb the ravine. Cursing, Zack runs after him. "Cloud, come on!"

Zack reaches within the ravine, ready to yell at him - date be damned - but Cloud's eyes are distant. Zack tries to grab his wrist, but Cloud grunts and wrenches his hand away without looking at him, and keeps climbing.

It's the first time Zack is scared.

Not of Cloud, of course. Of the situation in general. They have to report to work the very next day, Cloud more so than Zack, since he has phones to answer. What's Hollander going to do if Cloud's mako poisoning has progressed so much that he's incoherent? What will Zack do if Cloud keeps mindlessly running into danger?

Since he has no other viable options, Zack follows Cloud up the ravine. For now, he can keep Cloud physically safe. Cloud will snap out of this fog; he's done it every other time it's happened. Zack just needs to be patient. Once at the top, Cloud walks hesitantly to edge, still staring off into space. Zack stays very close, ready to intervene if Cloud jumps off or something else equally reckless.

“It’s not here,” says Cloud.

“What isn’t?” Midgar is right there in the distance, walled off by giant metal walls and its massive mako reactors. Numbers Four and Seven let off huge amounts of mako steam that shoot neon green pulses into the sky.

“The Buster Sword,” says Cloud. “I left it here. This is where you died.”

“Cloud. . .” It seems pointless to protest that he’s alive. Other than letting the. . . whatever is happening to Cloud pass, Zack doesn’t have any ideas.

“I’m going crazy, aren’t I?” asks Cloud, like he’s asking about what to have for dinner.

Slowly, Zack grabs his shoulders, turning him away from Midgar. “Hey, look at me,” he says, slipping a hand under Cloud’s chin. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t think it’s as simple as you just going mako-crazy. You can do things you shouldn’t be able to do, for starters.”

“Like spar with Sephiroth,” mumbles Cloud.

“Well, I think he’s just being nice,” says Zack, pulling Cloud closer. It wasn’t like Cloud was actually a match for Sephiroth. “But you’re apparently an expert mechanic now.”

“Sephiroth is nice,” repeats Cloud, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. “Was he nice before?”

“I don’t know,” says Zack. It’s not like he’s close with the man. “Maybe he just thinks you’re hot.”

“Looks like everyone thinks that,” says Cloud, with a slight eye roll.

Zack can’t hold back a laugh; Cloud sounds so annoyed about it. “I’m sure you’ll survive the trials and tribulations of being one of the beautiful people.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” says Cloud, sagging against Zack’s chest.

A bit of the tension leaves Zack - Cloud is acting like himself again.

“I ruined the date,” says Cloud. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” says Zack, ruffling Cloud’s spiky hair. “I tried too hard to be original; should’ve just stayed in and watched a dumb movie or something.”

Cloud looks up, and Zack tries to ignore how often they’ve been this close, with Cloud’s big blue eyes gazing up at him expectantly. It would be so easy for Zack to lean down and kiss him, and they are on a date, ruined or not.

“I liked seeing Lyra again,” says Cloud.

“Did she remember you?” asks Zack, putting aside worries about sounding crazy for the moment.

“No,” says Cloud, shrugging. “But she could tell I recognized her. It’s fine, though. She thinks I’ve been touched by Heimdall.”

“Sounds cool,” mumbles Zack, eyes flitting back to Cloud’s mouth.

For a second, Cloud tenses. Then, while Zack’s trying to come up with some joke to ease the awkwardness, he grabs Zack’s shirt and pulls him down for a kiss.

Zack freezes, but it turns out that Cloud is - somehow - a very experienced kisser. He licks Zack’s lower lip, prompting Zack to open his mouth in surprise. Zack slips an arm around his waist, pulling him up as he bends down to deepen the kiss. For months, maybe a year, he's been dreaming of this. Hand trembling, he slips his fingers through Cloud's hair, moving his head to a better angle, encouraged when Cloud hums and licks at his lips. He makes a little grunting noise when Cloud bites his upper lip playfully, caressing the back of his neck. Zack pulls back slightly.

“Too much?” asks Cloud.

“That should be my line,” says Zack with a nervous snort. “Don’t take this wrong or anything, but I thought you’d have less experience.”

Cloud pouts, then leans back a little.

“Not that it’s a bad thing or anything,” Zack says, quickly. “ _Do_ you have any. . .um. Experience?”

“Yes and no,” says Cloud. “I remember with--but it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Right,” says Zack. He takes a short but deep breath. “Do you talk to anyone else like this?”

“No,” says Cloud, pulling away from Zack and looking back towards Midgar. “I know I sound crazy, okay? I don’t trust them.”

“But you trust me?”

“Yeah,” says Cloud, without turning around. “You didn’t leave me behind, though you probably should have.”

“So you’ll keep telling me about all your memories, or whatever they are?”

“I’ll try,” says Cloud. “Sometimes, they’re hard to put into words, or they don’t make sense.”

They don’t make sense ever. “And you’ll keep coming to me before going off to do anything?”

“I’ll try,” repeats Cloud, in a small voice.

At least he remembers that he hadn't, just moments ago. Sighing, Zack steps closer to him and gathers him into a hug from behind. He lays his head on top of Cloud’s head, unconcerned with his ridiculous hair. “I’ll do my very best to take care of you. I promise.”

Off in the distance, another reactor pulses with neon energy. In the flash, Zack sees something out the corner of his eyes. A gurgling sound sends a chill down his spine. He feels Cloud tensing, then looks back, still holding him.

"What the fuck. . ." he breathes.

In front of them, black steam condenses into something resembling a humanoid form. In the center, the outline of a spine flickers with sickly green light. The stink of raw mako suddenly fills the air, and the shadow takes a more corporeal form. A long, slimy rope slips out of a hole that might be its mouth, a current of sickly green electricity flickering through it. It lets out a shriek.

"A Whisper," says Cloud.

Zack pushes Cloud behind him, going for the Buster Sword. The electrified tongue strikes out. Zack sidesteps, grabbing the back of Cloud's shirt to move him aside. The tongue twists, in a way that doesn't look natural, and Zack has no choice but to jump aside. Cloud side-steps, moving faster than should be possible for him.

"It's not coming for me!" yells Cloud. "You gotta leave me here. It doesn't want us together."

"Yeah, no," says Zack.

The thing shambles forward, striking once again with its tongue. Zack rolls out of the way, takes a guess, and fires an Aero spell. It lands, making the thing shudder and scream. But it doesn't slow down.

One of its limbs strikes out faster than the eye can see, almost pierces through Zack's shoulder. It sears his jacket, slices through the skin of his deltoid, sends a shock down Zack's arm. He ignores the pain, striking the thing when - for a brief second - its color grows solid and its stink more foul. It staggers back with a pained sound, and its pulsating veins change to neon red. Zack feels the heat before flames burst from the holes on its face. Just barely, he manages to roll out of the way.

“Zack, you have to run!” yells Cloud.

Ice beats Fire. The thing isn’t smart. Zack aims his spell, then follows it with a heavy strike from the Buster Sword. It lands home, tearing a scream from the monster. Zack tries to follow with a kick, not giving it a moment of respite, but another shock runs through his body when his foot connects with the thing’s torso. Pain courses through his muscles, and he might have ignored it, but a vivid vision suddenly permeates his mind.

Zack is on the very same ravine, hundred of troopers rushing at him, backed by Scarlet’s materia-enhanced machines. He knows he will die, accepts it, but he has to buy Cloud time. Or at least take out as much of ShinRa’s army as he can. Take a page out of Genesis’ book and go down in spectacular flames.

A hot, slimy tongue wraps around Zack’s torso, pulling him out of the terrifying vision. He struggles, but isn’t fast enough to escape its hold. A powerful shock makes his back spasm, tearing a scream out of him. For a horrible moment, he blacks out.

When he comes to, Cloud is standing in front of him, aiming the couriass at the squirming monster.

“ _No,_ ” says Cloud. “You’ll have to kill me, too.”

Zack struggles to his feet, eyes flitting around the rocky ground for his Buster Sword, willing the mako in his system to work _faster_. The monster gurgles, tries to shamble around Cloud in a way that would be comical if a wave of nausea hadn’t come over Zack at the same time. Its tongue shoots out, but Cloud intercepts it, wraps it around his free hand to reel the monster in.

“It can shock--”

Cloud pierces its chest with the couriass before Zack can get his warning out.

Inexplicably, the monster explodes into multiple fragments of gooey, pulsating miasma. The fragments scatter away, flickering like the most disgusting fireflies.

“What the fuck?” says Zack, heaving.

“You okay?” asks Cloud, whirling around.

“I’m fine,” says Zack, doubling over to hold his weight on his knees. Then he throws up at Cloud’s feet. “Totally fine.”

“Right,” says Cloud, stepping around the puddle of bile to offer Zack a hand. “The nausea. . . Well, it won’t really get _better_ , but you get used to it.”

“What the fuck was that?” repeats Zack, putting his arm around Cloud’s shoulder to lean on him. Already, the wound in his shoulder is burning, the mako in his veins trying to close it, but the urge to vomit persists.

“That was a Whisper,” says Cloud. “I don’t think they liked us kissing.”

“Well, fuck ‘em,” says Zack, still scanning the ground for his Buster Sword.

Cloud chuckles.

“There it is,” says Zack, finally spotting the Buster Sword. He tries to stand on his own, ignores a fresh wave of nausea, then walks towards it.

“You good to go back down?” asks Cloud.

“Yeah,” says Zack, carefully crouching down to pick up his weapon. Just as carefully, he stands back up, swallowing against the reflex to vomit again, and turns to face Cloud.

He looks the same as always: adorable and fluffy, with a hint of baby fat still clinging stubbornly to his cheeks. But his eyes glow bright with mako, and he’d just taken out a monster that had almost killed Zack. Badass, sure, but Zack has to start asking uncomfortable questions.

“We gotta talk,” says Zack.

“I know,” says Cloud. “Let’s head back.”


	24. Rationalizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud and Zack have a long talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I wasn't gonna get anything out this weekend, but I forgot that the quarantine is still going on and there's not much else to do. Besides get lost as fuck on Persona 5.

Cloud lets Zack take the lead after the Whisper vanishes, though he’s probably still struggling with the aftermath of the visions and the electric shocks. He’ll feel better if he can prove to himself that he still has a measure of control. Or it would make Cloud feel better, anyway. Zack has always been more laid-back, both the one that he remembers from the battle in the ravine and the usual Zack. 

_Now there’s a thought that could use a map and a compass,_ thinks Cloud, as he climbs behind Zack on the motorcycle. 

He doesn’t ask where Zack is taking them. It’s not that important. Cloud just needs some time to gather his thoughts. He lays his head on Zack’s back, closes his eyes, and tries to focus on the roar of the engine as they speed through the desert surrounding Midgar. The Whispers are getting stronger, so the tear in the universe is getting wider. Whether that’s happening on its own, or because _he_ is getting stronger, Cloud can’t tell. No part of him can, though most of him is scared of the latter. He remembers Aerith telling him to come visit her alone. Why hasn’t he? They’re running out of time.

 _She’s just a girl,_ something in him whispers. _You shouldn’t drag her into this._

After dropping the bike at one of ShinRa’s lots, Zack hops on the train to the slums and gets off at the station between Sector 6 and Sector 7. Cloud recognizes the place, even though he’s never been there before. He’d stumbled to the station once, disoriented, and ran into Tifa. He’d babbled about being an ex-SOLDIER, and the unnatural glow of his eyes had convinced her to ignore her own instincts. Cloud shakes his head and lets Zack take his hand.

People had been drawn to the place while looking for sunlight - it’s close to the area where the plate had never been finished. The sun shines through, and that’s worth the risk of crumbling metal flattening some people from time to time. The sewers from one of the mako reactors is nearby, so scavengers can collect the runoff to power their contraband engines. And keep their addicts going a bit longer. Cloud had picked up. . . will pick up some deliveries here and agree to hunt down some vicious monsters. Tifa had introduced him to the veteran scavengers, the ones who’d managed to survive without climbing onto a pile of bones. One day, Aerith will guide him through the abandoned alleyways that are too dangerous for most people, because the crumbling infrastructure is too risky for anyone without a sixth sense for danger. 

The people recognize Zack, and some go as far as smiling and waving at him. Without the Whisper disaster, would Cloud have realized how remarkable that is? That a SOLDIER had won even an iota of goodwill from the people suffocating under the steel sky? 

“Bombs are still going off in my stomach,” says Zack, as he leads Cloud through the crowd, holding his hand, “but sometimes, that just means you gotta eat.”

Cloud hums something noncommittal. Stress tends to annihilate his appetite, which might be why Geostigma almost killed him despite all his enhancements. 

“Let me grab some food, then. I know a place,” Zack continues. “This talk is gonna suck enough; no need to have it on an empty stomach.”

They end up at a hole-in-the-wall that doesn’t offer in-house dining simply because there’s no space. Colleen’s place. Again, Cloud recognizes it from a life he hasn’t led. The woman there makes protein-rich snacks from surplus chocobo eggs provided by Chocobo Sam. Cloud can’t remember the details - perhaps he never knew them - but the omelettes are amazing. Just the scent of them makes his mouth water. Tifa had brought him here during one of their dates, not that he’d let himself call them that at the time. 

“I want some, too,” says Cloud, while they wait in line. “With feta cheese and black olives.”

“Yeah, of course,” says Zack. “How do you know what Colleen sells?”

Cloud looks at him and can’t answer.

“Mako thoughts,” says Zack, looking away. He puts an arm around Cloud’s shoulders and draws him closer.

After they get their order, Zack leads him back to the crumbling suburb of Sector 6, towards the old church. Aerith’s church. But he doesn’t know Aerith. He doesn’t know Aerith, and by now, he should have met her. He should be telling Cloud about the miraculous girl from the slums who can coax Midgar’s dead soil to birth flowers. But he isn’t, so he stops halfway to the church, on an old roof with a clear view of the steel sky. Or a gap of it, anyway. The sun is long gone. Cloud looks up, sees the edge of the plate framed by Midgar’s electric lights. Beyond them is the real sky. With his enhanced mako-eyes, he can see the faint glimmer of the real stars.

“Looks like something out of those sci fi books my bro loved to read,” says Zack, as he opens the bag with Colleen’s delicious take out.

“You don’t have a brother,” says Cloud.

“Well, not anymore,” says Zack, shrugging. “He’s dead.”

Zack’s an only child. He’s supposed to be one.

“Why did you join SOLDIER?” asks Cloud.

“What, did you forget?” asks Zack, handing him a bag of food.

“Humor me,” says Cloud, accepting the food.

“I needed money.” Zack shrugs, takes his first mouthful of omelette. “My brother left a wife and two kids at the same time a reactor explosion crippled our dad. Not like there were lots of jobs down in Gongaga. Not after the engineers mostly automated mining.”

They’d talked about this before. It’s a common story, so common that Cloud doesn’t even remember the specific conversation. He takes a bit of his omelette, savors the crunch of the olives. “You don’t want to be a hero?” 

“Sure,” says Zack. “I’m the hero making sure my nieces don’t starve.”

“But why SOLDIER?” If it’s just about money, then the regular infantry is less dangerous, though much more boring. Cloud knows, though he’s technically never been in the infantry. 

“They offered more money,” says Zack. “Honestly, I thought I’d wash out for the usual reasons.” 

Most SOLDIERs are children of President ShinRa’s shareholders. People who have been promised a spot in The Promised Land.

“I didn’t even read the contract beyond the salary part,” says Zack. “Spike, you saw that shit. It’s like twenty pages long and says that ShinRa isn’t responsible for anything that happens to your dumb ass after you get the mako shots. I asked around, and apparently, what happens to almost everyone is a few days of diarrhea. So I thought I’d go to the SOLDIER academy for a few months with some rich kids, fail, and end up in the infantry anyway. And then I didn’t.”

“Do you regret it?”

“I mean. . .” Zack sighs and eats more of his omelette. “I’m probably never gonna have kids. It’s not official or anything, but everyone figures that if they could breed SOLDIERs, there would be twenty little Sephiroths running around by now. I got my nieces, though, so I guess it’s fine. No point in getting twisted up about something I can’t change. There’s always adoption.”

Had Zack wanted to have kids before? Had he dreamed about it before getting shredded on that ravine? 

“I suppose ShinRa could ask me to fight in some war, but they haven’t yet. With Wutai decimated, who can stand against them? So I’m probably just gonna be hunting giant monsters for the foreseeable future. It’s not so bad a life, really.”

“They’re bleeding the Planet dry,” says Cloud.

“You’re in the wrong company if you’re getting all religious on me,” says Zack.

“I’m not religious,” says Cloud. “I don’t have faith; I have _knowledge_.”

“Yeah, I think I got a bit of your knowledge today,” says Zack. 

Right, about that. “What did the Whisper show you?” asks Cloud.

“I was on that ravine fighting a ShinRa battalion, and I knew I was gonna die,” says Zack. “Mostly, I was thinking _please, let me buy Cloud some time,_ and _fuck ShinRa_. And something about Genesis being dead.” He shrugs. “I was thinking of him by his first name too, which. . . weird.”

Cloud doesn’t remember Genesis _at all,_ not even as a famous First Class SOLDIER. It’s weird considering he’s about as popular as Sephiroth, if not for the same reasons. 

“Nothing about Aerith?” asks Cloud.

“No.”

Cloud hums and takes a few more mouthfuls of omelette. He’d thought Zack had been fixated on Midgar all that time because he’d wanted to see Aerith, but his memories of that period are a tangled mess of delusions. What did he really know?

“What do you think it means?” asks Cloud.

“Obviously, those Whisper things are doing some confusing status effect shit and giving people hallucinations,” says Zack. “They got you way worse than me, before you got this mako poisoning. Or maybe during the mako poisoning. The details are not that important; we just have to remember they’ve filled your head with all this. . .” Zack waves a hand around. “I’m sure the medical people will come up with a neutral name for it. Either way, I’m glad I know what’s wrong. So you have a little brain damage. No one’s perfect, Cloud. We can get through this.”

“And my sparring with Sephiroth?” asks Cloud.

“Again,” says Zack. Then he takes a deep breath, obviously trying to convince himself of something. “We’re all getting ahead of ourselves. You’re not wiping the floor with him, just keeping up with some swordsmanship lessons. And it’s been weeks, so it makes sense that you’ve improved, especially with the enhancements of the mako poisoning.” 

“But Sephiroth only spars with the other Firsts,” insists Cloud. He has to push this. Zack has to understand what’s happening. He _has_ to.

“Okay.” Zack sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Spike, don’t take this the wrong way, but Sephiroth’s still just a guy. He’s indulging you because you’re hot and he wants an excuse to spend time with you. You know, like Roche? He’s just more inept and less obnoxious about it.”

Okay, he’s not about to let this turn into an argument about Sephiroth’s alleged romantic feelings. Maybe Zack has been spending too much time reading _Access Midgar_ fanfic. 

“When did I become a mechanic?” he asks instead, before taking another bite of the omelette.

“You’ve been into bikes for months now,” says Zack, taking a mouthful of his own. “And Roche’s probably been letting you play with that monstrosity of his.” 

It all works out so well when Zack lays it out like that. Mako poisoning. Weird monsters with Confuse status effects giving people hallucinations. Cloud’s looks getting him attention from just the right people to explain his new skills. 

“You’re wrong, but I get it,” says Cloud. “It’s a nice, comforting, optimistic, and logical theory. And it doesn’t involve _him_.”

“I bet this is no different than pulling a muscle or getting stabbed,” says Zack, obviously reassured by his theory. “All this stuff about me dying and. . . the rest. It’s like the head version of a muscle cramp. You just gotta give yourself time to recover.”

Cloud doesn’t have the heart to argue with him. Or any coherent argument, if he’s being perfectly honest. 

They finish the rest of their food in companionable silence, sharing a single Mad Chocobo energy drink and looking up, staring up at the star ocean and what little is visible of the real sky.

“Why did you join ShinRa?” asks Zack, eventually.

“There are two answers to that question,” says Cloud. “I remember two answers.”

“Feel free to share either,” says Zack.

“What have I told you about my mom?” Cloud asks instead.

Zack turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowed. The mako’s blue glow is somehow more obvious at night. “She’s from a mountain tribe or whatever from the Nibel mountain ranges, but she left or they kicked her out or something before you were born. Now, she's in that old Nibelheim town, hunts monsters, and scavenges for natural materia. Used to tell you stories about the old gods, something about Odin and your hair.”

“And what did I say about my father?”

“Not much,” says Zack. “Your ma says it’s none of your business who your dad is, which I said was fucked up, but then _you_ said - and I quote - ‘don’t imply shit about my mom, _Zack_ ’.”

“I can get sensitive about my mom,” agrees Cloud. 

“Are you gonna say anything about what’s going on or just keep asking weird, redundant questions?” 

“I remember everything you said, but I also remember something else,” says Cloud, looking back up at the sky. “Claudia was a housewife from Nibelheim. Her husband - my dad - died in a reactor accident before I was born. She got a small settlement from ShinRa that she used to feed me, but it wasn’t much. All the entertainment we could get was magazines from Midgar. I used to wait for them every Saturday, followed the Wutain war like it was a comic book. I had pictures of Sephiroth glued to my wall, and I joined ShinRa because I wanted to be just like him.”

“You told me you left Nibelheim because your ma told you every man needed to find his own way in the world, and she wouldn’t be doing you any favors by coddling you,” says Zack. “She said this when you were fourteen and pretty much kicked you out.”

“Don’t imply shit about my mom, Zack.” 

He says it without heat, and Zack bursts out laughing. 

“She kicked you out for basically no reason when you were fourteen, and you still send her most of your money,” says Zack. “I know I almost just got killed by some weird mako zombie thing-”

“It was a Whisper-”

“-but I can put that aside if you’re willing to hear me out about your crazy mother,” finishes Zack.

“She’s not crazy,” protests Cloud. “She _believes_ in me. I made it here, didn’t I? And I didn’t wash out of SOLDIER, either, not as fast as I did before. I _wouldn’t_ have like before, when I let you die for me, and then pretended I was you and let _Sephiroth_. . .” Cloud cuts himself off, realizing that he’s shouting. 

“You didn’t let me die in my dream,” says Zack steadily. “ShinRa killed me, and I was relieved that - whatever else happened - it sounds like I at least bought you time. In the dream, Cloud. It wasn’t real.”

Much to his horror, Cloud feels his eyes filling up with tears. He gasps, wiping at his face as Zack tries to pull him into a hug. “Stop it,” he hisses, making a token attempt to push Zack away. “I’m trying to explain what happened.”

“I know,” says Zack, ignoring Cloud’s attempts to push him off.

It doesn’t take long for the despair and the guilt to overtake Cloud. Soon, he sags against Zack’s chest and outright weeps, a lifetime of regret and pain washing over him. They’d tried so hard, all of them - Tifa, Barret, Vincent, Yuffie, Red, Cid, Reeve, and even that asshole Rufus, and none of it had mattered in the end. Cloud had not been strong enough, and now, _he’s_ back in another world to rip it to shreds. 

“I was so fucking close,” gasps Cloud. “I thought it was over. I let myself have a _life_ , and _he_ showed up again, and it’s all _gone_ , and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here. Everything’s different. Fuck, I don’t even know what happened to Tifa and the kids.”

“It’s okay, Cloud,” says Zack, rubbing his back.

“No, it’s not fucking okay,” says Cloud, well past the point of worrying about how hysterical he sounds. “It’s fucking not. The Whispers are back - stupid fucking things - which means that _he’s_ back, and this sweet and shy Sephiroth in fucking braids is not gonna hold him back for long.” Cloud dry heaves, mind whirring. “Unless. . . we kill this Sephiroth. _He_ might not be able to come through without, like, a conduit or something. Are there clones yet? Am I a clone? It’s fine; we can deal with that after.” He rambles to himself while sagging against Zack’s chest.

“Cloud.” Zack takes a breath, takes a hold of Cloud’s shoulders, and pushes him back slightly. Perversely, Cloud tries to cling to his shirt, but Zack is strong enough to push him back. Cloud glares up at him. “I’m trying to be supportive here, but you cannot - for fuck’s sake - talk about how we need to _murder_ Sephiroth. Sephiroth!” 

“He’s not what you think he is,” says Cloud.

“Oh, really?” says Zack. “He’s not the best swordsman on the Planet? The strongest super soldier in the world? Backed by the most powerful corporation in the world? His friends are not the second and third most powerful swordsmen in the world?”

“I didn’t say it was gonna be easy,” says Cloud, looking away from Zack’s pleading gaze.

“Please, Cloud.” Zack pulls him back into a loose hug. “Please promise me you’re not gonna rush him in the cafeteria, or something. You have to work with him literally tomorrow.”

“I promise,” says Cloud. And he means it, though he sounds like a petulant child to his own ears. Sighing, he puts his arms around Zack’s waist and hugs him back. “I was just talking shit, anyway. This Sephiroth freaks me out with how. . . This is the same man who’s tried to conquer the universe multiple times by now, and he’s fretting over S.O.N. bullshit. It’d be like smothering a puppy to kill him as he is. And obviously, I can’t just explain what’s happening to him while he’s as meek as a calf.”

“Oh, Gaia,” says Zack, sighing. “What’s happening to my sweet little Cloud?”

“I was never that sweet,” says Cloud into Zack’s chest. “Your crush just clouded your judgment.”

“Hah,” snorts Zack. “Clouded.”

“Shut up,” says Cloud. “Still wanna be my boyfriend, even though I’d still probably kill Sephiroth if I could get away with it?”

Zack’s arms tighten around him. “You’re not gonna be able to do anything to him, Spike; the mako’s just making you all deluded. If you were talking about killing Kunsel or something, I’d be more concerned for his safety than yours.” 

That’s a rather insulting lack of trust in his ability, but it’s not like Cloud doesn’t get where Zack is coming from, so he ignores it. For the time being. “The Whispers are not happy about this relationship, but honestly? Fuck them,” says Cloud. “Sephiroth’s the one going after destiny, and they don’t do shit to _him_. Cowards.”

“Totally,” says Zack.

Although he knows that Zack is not taking him seriously despite the brief flash he got from the Whisper earlier, Cloud calms down. This is more or less as crazy as he’s going to get, and Zack seems okay with it. 

“In that case, I think we should probably try to. . . date.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” says Cloud. “I thought you were supposed to be with Aerith, but what the fuck do I know? Apparently, Commander Rhapsodos won’t exist five years from now. Maybe I’m remembering wrong.”

“Yeah, maybe,” agrees Zack.

Cloud chooses to ignore the placating tone. “And it’ll piss off the Whispers,” says Cloud, actually starting to get into the idea. “And I’ll get to rub it in everyone’s faces.”

“You could’ve been doing that for months,” says Zack, rubbing his back soothingly. “My sweet little Cloud.” 

“And maybe less people will hit on me!”

Zack starts outright laughing at that, letting go of Cloud so he can double over. “Your life is so hard, Spike.” 

“Everyone thinks they want to be hot until they actually are,” says Cloud. “Imagine no one takes anything you say seriously because you’re just a hot, dumb blond, and if you try to complain about it, everyone thinks you’re bragging about your looks.”

“The depths of your struggle are unimaginable,” says Zack, still giggling. 

“Shut up,” says Cloud. But he can’t quite hide his smile as he takes out his PHS. “I’m gonna tell S.O.N. we’re in a relationship, and every time someone hits on me, I’ll say I have a jealous SOLDIER boyfriend.”

“I volunteer for this odious task,” says Zack, picking Cloud up like he’s a prickly cat.

Cloud makes a half-hearted show of struggling, and then he pulls Zack down for a kiss after he's done with his S.O.N. profile update.


	25. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date ends with a bang.

Zack has spent the best part of a year imagining sex with Cloud in all positions, contexts, and scenarios. Some of the fantasies had not been anatomical possible, and some he wouldn’t admit on his deathbed due to the intense sleaziness and/or sappiness. He’s also had plenty of sex, both with men and women, so he has practical experience on his side. Not to mention, he isn’t dealing with abrupt promotions, physical illness, or mental distress.

He’s still as nervous as a debutante before her wedding night. To a much older man that she’s afraid of, even though he seems nice enough.

“Anyway,” Cloud says, after they’ve cleaned up all the leftover garbage from their junk food haul, “you wanna stay over at my apartment tonight?”

“Ah, yeah?” says Zack, trying to discern if that means what he wants it to mean.

“I don’t have condoms,” says Cloud. Then he shrugs. “But I already have mako poisoning, so whatever, I guess.”

“No, I got some,” says Zack, determined not to add more gasoline to the fire. “I mean, I didn’t get condoms specifically for tonight,” he adds, quickly. “I just carry them with me, just in case I decide on a hook-up.”

“It’s good to be prepared,” says Cloud, nodding.

“Not that I need them often!” Gaia, but he’s fucking this up. “I’m not going through the Planet just fucking whoever.”

“I carry them too,” says Cloud, looking off into the distance. “Well, I used to. Or I will. It was sad I couldn’t be with Tifa without them even after we were. . . exclusive.”

“Cloud. . .” Nervousness or not, Zack very much wants to take him to bed, but not if he’s in the middle of a prolonged breakdown. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m great,” says Cloud, with a crooked half-smile that turns into a snort. “I could use a distraction.”

“A distraction,” says Zack. “That’s it?”

“You just said you hook up with people,” says Cloud. “Why not me?”

Yeah, why not? Besides the fact that he doesn’t want to hook up but a romantic starlight dinner where they confess their undying love for each other and then make slow, gentle love?

“Look, it’s fine,” says Cloud, crossing his arms over his chest. “I thought it was what you wanted, is all.”

“Only if you want it too,” says Zack.

“Everyone wants sex,” shrugs Cloud. “People are just usually too nervous to get it.”

A few months ago, Cloud would have blushed as red as tomato at the sight of a scantily-clad woman. Or one of Sephiroth’s posters.

“I swear it’s okay,” says Cloud, perhaps seeing something in Zack’s expression. “We can just make out or something, if you’re. . . Well, you wouldn’t be scared of me. Would you?”

Though the question is more curious than challenging, it still rankles. “You know what?”

Cloud raises an eyebrow.

“I would, indeed, like to spend the night at your place,” says Zack.

“Okay,” says Cloud, looking at his feet. Not shyly, for once, but like he’s trying to hide a smirk.

Well, he’s not going to chicken out now.

They don’t say anything on the way back to the barracks, which in and of itself is not unusual. Cloud is normally a very quiet person - it’s one of the things that Zack loves about him, being able to bask in his company without having to worry about keeping a conversation going. The current silence is suffocating, though. They stand as far away from each other as possible in the elevator, like polite strangers who don’t trust each other. Or like people bracing themselves for a shameful hook-up. A universe away from their companionable silences, aided by casual contact and trust.

It’s a relief that Cloud doesn’t fumble when opening his door (Zack suspects that he would have, if they’d decided to go to his place), and that he looks calm as he gestures Zack inside. The moment of hesitation hits when he starts taking off his jacket.

“We really don’t have to do this,” says Cloud, with a quick, nervous glance.

Slowly, Zack slips at hand under his chin, waiting until he calms to direct his gaze upwards. “I want to try,” admits Zack, “even if you’re a little confused.”

“Okay,” says Cloud, starting to stand on the tips of his toes.

“But,” says Zack, sliding his hand down Cloud’s neck, “you have to promise me - _promise_ \- that you’ll tell me if it hurts. Or if you’re uncomfortable. Or if you change your mind for any reason.”

“Yeah, of course,” says Cloud, pulling Zack down for a kiss.

He doesn’t mean it. Zack can tell. But Zack’s not a saint. All he can do is pay close attention to nonverbal cues as he goes through with this.

It’s no longer a surprise that, somehow, Cloud knows how to kiss. Zack decides to enjoy that, to let Cloud direct the making out as they stumble to his room. He lets his jacket fall on the floor, then lifts Cloud to outright carry him.

Cloud lets out a chuckle and wraps his legs around Zack’s waist. “So strong,” he giggles.

“Hope you’re ready for some mako stamina,” Zack tells him, smirking. Jokes are fine. Only relaxed people joke.

“I’m ready, _sir_ ,” says Cloud, pulling at Zack’s shirt.

Zack almost pauses, trying to figure out if Cloud is into military roleplay, but then they’re kissing once more, deep and thorough. It’s a hassle to pause to get their shirts over their heads; he considers just ripping them off, then pushes Cloud onto the bed. The sight is a wonder, and not because Cloud is inexplicably ripped now. How many nights had he spent imagining Cloud's smooth, warm skin, the freckles adorning his collarbones? Zack runs a hand down his chest, pausing above his belly button.

“You okay?” asks Cloud, staring up at him with glistening, kiss-bitten lips.

“I’m great,” says Zack, because saying that he’s been daydreaming about this since practically the first day he laid eyes on Cloud would be weird. He bends down to kiss Cloud more, eager to distract him.

As he trails his lips down Cloud’s neck, he unhooks his belt. Cloud moans, encouraging Zack to slip a hand under his boxers.

“You’re so hard,” says Zack, relieved and suddenly aware of his own dick.

“What did you expect?” whines Cloud, kicking at the back of his calf. “Get on with it, or let me take the lead, come on.”

“Right, sorry,” mumbles Zack, pulling at Cloud’s pants.

It takes a second of awkward fumbling, but soon enough, Cloud’s naked on the bed, panting. He hides his eyes behind his elbow, blushing, and it’s the only sign that he’s not as confident as his bravado suggests. Zack falls to his knees, swallowing as he eyes Cloud’s erect cock.

“Zack?”

“Hold on,” he says, caressing Cloud’s inner thigh. He hasn’t done this before, but only because he’s never really _wanted_ to. The people he'd been with had offered to do it to him, and a part of him had always wondered the appeal.

“Oh, fuck,” Cloud breathes, when Zack wraps his lips around the head of his cock.

It’s flattering enough that Zack barely notices the taste, which is not as jarring as he might have feared. He can get through this.

“I should be doing that,” he hears Cloud gasp, as Zack does his best to replicate what people have done to him.

He’s not going to stop to analyze what Cloud might mean and knock himself out of the groove he’s finally reaching.

It shouldn’t be the hottest thing he’s ever done. He can’t get enough of Cloud into his mouth; the one time he tries, it triggers his gag reflex, and he almost bites down. Cloud only giggles and lets him try again, after he remembers he has hands. Zack still feels like he’s flying every time Cloud lets out one of his little moans, makes a game out forcing him to be louder. He guides Cloud’s legs over his shoulders for better access, relieved that the few times he’s taken a man to bed, it’d been guys who’d reminded him of his increasingly intense crush.

Sweet guys with narrow frames, who couldn’t quite look him in the eyes even though they couldn’t quite hold back clever - and sometimes silly - quips.

Zack’s the one who moans when Cloud reaches down to thread his fingers through his hair. He tries to relax his throat as best he can, and Cloud gasps and squirms, though Zack can’t quite manage to deepthroat. It’d felt so amazing when people did it to him. It’s something to aspire to, Zack tells himself, pulling back to kiss at the junction of Cloud’s thigh and pelvis, indulging in a light bite when Cloud babbles a plea for more.

“Shit, I don’t have lube,” he says.

“I got some,” Cloud gasps, gesturing at his drawer, then trying to wriggle away to reach for it.

Zack watches his body as he moves, the blush that has spread all the way to his chest, his tight little nipples, then the curve of his ass when he turns over. “What do you need lube for?” he asks, before his brain catches up with him. Cloud had already said he’d never been with anyone, outside his delusions, and even if he had, that’s not Zack’s business.

“For the obvious,” says Cloud, still a little breathy. “You’re gonna be glad I like practicing this on my own.”

Mesmerized, Zack watches as he squeezes lube out of the tube in a practiced motion and reaches behind himself. Zack spares a second to consider asking him to spread his legs, turn around, _something_ , but his mouth goes dry as Cloud closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, his entire body shuddering. Without a single word, Zack leans forward to kiss him, reaching for his arm, caressing his elbow and going down, until his thumb is pressing at Cloud’s rim, where his slick fingers are going in and out.

Cloud pulls back from the kiss. “Go ahead,” he gasps, licking at Zack’s neck.

His fingers slide inside Cloud’s tight heat with almost no resistance, making him moan. Cloud’s legs wrap around his waist, and Zack almost forgets that he’s still wearing pants in his haste. With a hysterical giggle that is the opposite of manly, he pulls back to start undoing his belt. Cloud leans back on the bed, watching with a satisfied smirk.

“I think I used to dream of this,” he says.

Zack’s going to ignore the strange tenses there. He doesn’t sound scared or agitated, so whatever mako shit is going through his mind, Zack honestly does not give a fuck. He barely remembers to reach into his pants pockets for a condom before throwing them aside, tearing the packet and hissing as he slips it on. If he’s not careful, he’s gonna blow his load in a minute, like he’s the nervous virgin.

“Maybe we did,” says Cloud, looking up at him in soft wonderment. “You took me to a bar when you made SOLDIER and told me I was _pretty_ , and I didn’t get mad.”

Zack had already been a SOLDIER when he met Cloud. He touches Cloud’s face and says “you are _very_ pretty,” then waits to see if Cloud comes back to himself.

It’s difficult to say if he does, but at least he doesn’t get any worse. He turns his head towards Zack’s hand and kisses his palm, spreading his legs with a needy little wheeze. Putting his doubts aside, Zack bends down to kiss him, deep and thorough, as he hikes Cloud’s legs higher to get better access.

Cloud’s pliant and relaxed; there’s no trouble getting Zack’s cock inside him, and he groans when Zack’s all the way in, breathing evenly to give him time to settle.

“Oh,” says Cloud, squirming and clutching at Zack’s shoulders. “Move!”

Zack doesn’t need to be told twice. He tries to set a gentle pace, and has to hold Cloud’s chest down because he’s writhing so much, begging him to do it harder. It’s so good that Zack suspects that he’s dreaming, that his brain has created a bizarre amalgamation of the last porn he watched and Cloud as he currently is, overcome with bizarre mako delusions.

“I love you,” says Zack, without making a conscious decision.

Cloud freezes on the bed, mako-bright blue eyes wide, forcing Zack to pause his thrusting, though he stays buried in him to the hilt.

“I mean it,” he says.

“I know,” says Cloud, breath coming out in shallow pants, once again starting to squirm. “I’m sorry.”

Zack smiles, thighs trembling with the effort to stay still.

“Come on,” whines Cloud, kicking at the backs of his thighs. “Finish!”

Spurred by the desperate edge in Cloud’s voice, Zack thrusts harder, not giving him a moment of respite until he feels Cloud clenching around him to the point of near-pain. He can’t stop himself from continuing the punishing pace until his orgasm blindsides him, tearing a growl from his throat. The sensation travels up his spine, making him collapse on top of Cloud as he struggles to breathe.

For a while, he wallows in the blissful nothingness that blankets his thoughts, his whole body. Then Cloud squirms, prompting him to ease out carefully.

“You okay?” asks Cloud.

“That should be my line,” mumbles Zack, as he deals with the used condom.

“I’m good,” says Cloud, falling down onto the bed. “Did you like it?”

“It was passable,” says Zack, beaming.

“Haha,” says Cloud, snuggling closer. “Just- I know it doesn’t work sometimes. Because of the enhancements. And stuff.”

Zack wishes he could say those rumors were bullshit, but the lab coats had warned him that the mako shots could cause what they politely called ‘sexual dysfunction’. Cloud must have gotten the spiel in some cadet seminar. It’d been too long ago for Zack to remember when exactly he’d been sort-of warned about that in the Academy.

“It worked fine this time,” says Zack. “So fine I wanna take a nap.”

“Good,” says Cloud. His breathing goes even and calm.

A stray thought pierces the comfortable fog of Zack’s post-orgasm glow. Maybe Cloud knows about the uncomfortable, sometimes-painful, mako-induced arousal and awful priapism because he has personally experienced it. Thankfully, that doesn’t make any sense. Zack hugs Cloud a little tighter and resolves to enjoy the rest of the night. There will be time to deal with the mako thoughts later.

* * *

After weeks of dutiful journal-keeping, Sephiroth finally loses patience and complains to Hojo.

"It isn't working," he says, after Hojo is done with his standard physical. Sephiroth has agreed to one every week, including blood draws to check whatever it is that Hojo likes to track.

"What isn't working?" asks Hojo, peering at him from behind glinting glasses.

"Keeping a journal," says Sephiroth.

"Well, if you let me read it," starts Hojo.

"No," says Sephiroth, standing up from the examination table.

"I can't help you if you don't cooperate, boy," says Hojo.

"I am cooperating," says Sephiroth, reaching for his jacket. "Thank you very much for your help."

He leaves the room, ignoring Hojo's sour look, before any further questions can be asked. There's no way Sephiroth will hand the man any account of his thoughts and feelings, no matter how sparse the journal actually is. So far, it's mostly a recipe book and a log of his daily PT routine. Boring enough that he considers handing it over if only to imagine Hojo's disappointment. He can't be certain of such an outcome, though, so he plans to keep the journal to himself, all in a physical notebook hidden in his room. Which he periodically checks for cameras and bugs.

On the way back to his apartment, sitting in the back of the Turk car that drives him around, he checks his S.O.N. account. His real one, which is rather paradoxically his anonymous one. The one he uses to talk with Strife, and on Strife's very own anonymous account.

"The other one was anonymous too, but then someone went and changed the name," Strife had complained bitterly. "Turks, I bet. Anyway, this is the one I use to talk to my friends now. Keep your official account far away."

Sephiroth had followed "MountainDude17" immediately, heart beating embarrassingly fast because Strife had casually called him a friend.

"User6487312?" Strife had asked. "Didn't even change the default name? I should've thought of that."

Strife has sent him a new message, with a link included. _This fanart actually looks like you._

Sephiroth clicks on the link, expecting the absolute worst. An overwhelming amount of "fanart" of him (and Genesis and Angeal) is erotic in nature, but Strife wouldn't actually send him something like that. Would he?

Of course not. The fanart is a photorealistic portrait of him at some ShinRa function or other where he'd worn a suit. Someone had taken a picture of him looking off into the distance, chin on his hand. He looks rather pensive and serious, though Sephiroth knows himself well enough to recognize the profound boredom in his expression. Still, it does look like him, and it's flattering enough that Sephiroth sees why some people consider him beautiful.

 _It is nice,_ Sephiroth says to Strife. _I would like it with my official account, but I don't want to ruin the artist's life._

 _She'd probably appreciate the instant exposure, but Odin only knows what else might happen,_ Strife responds. _Message it to Commander Rhapsodos. He likes some fanart sometimes, so it wouldn't break Midgar if he liked this one._

He does, but Sephiroth highly doubts that Genesis likes fanart of him. Not to mention, he'd ask how the hell Sephiroth noticed it. Or assume that Sephiroth name-searches himself, and he'd done that exactly once. And learned his lesson. Sephiroth doesn't know how much of that to say, if any of it at all. His relationship with Genesis is oddly antagonistic for a friendship, and also very private. He has an inkling that Genesis would not appreciate it if he ever notices that Strife is oddly knowledgeable of their dynamic. Luckily, S.O.N. conversations lend themselves to long pauses and abrupt subject changes, so he spends the rest of the ride back to his apartment gazing out the car's tinted windows, trying to think of a conversation topic.

Nothing comes to mind, except for food-related topics. He hasn’t told Strife that he cooks, though. Angeal and Genesis are the only people who know of his hobby, aside from idle speculation about all the high-end cooking utensils and ingredients that he purchases. And there had been a lot of speculation about it ever since someone had hacked ShinRa’s banking info a few months prior and discovered just how much of Sephiroth’s paycheck went to his kitchen. There probably should have been more outrage about the immense sums of money hoarded by ShinRa’s executives, but people are strange and instead went over Sephiroth’s boring bank statements with obsessive fervor.

Anyway. Genesis says it's the way of things - that numbers and money are cold and tedious, totally devoid of passion. That describes Sephiroth too, as far as he can tell, and it hasn't shielded him from attention.

He plans to cook lasagna for dinner, but it's a fairly complicated process for a single person. It's Angeal and Genesis' date night, though, so Sephiroth must find a way to entertain himself. Unbidden, he considers inviting Strife to his place for dinner. He shakes his head, snorting at himself. Even Sephiroth knows better than to invite a subordinate for something so intimate.

By the time he gets to his apartment, he's decided to forego dinner altogether. Not like skipping a meal is gonna do anything to his mako-enhanced body.

Instead, he goes over his journal entry from the previous day to confirm it matches what he remembers.

It does.

Hojo swears that this exercise will help him identify any gaps in his memory. Somehow. Sephiroth has his doubts about it, but he has no one to consult about this problem. He’d considered sharing the journal with Angeal and Genesis, but what good would that do? It’s not like they spend every waking moment together. The journal - and submitting to Hojo's exams - is not only the least he could do, it's also the _only_ thing he can do.

He tries flipping through channels and spends a good hour and a half on a documentary about a chocobo jockey who rose to stardom, got hooked on raw mako, fed it to his chocobo, and then committed suicide after being caught. Andres Sourand. Strife might know of this. And care.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [21:13]_  
There's a documentary about Andres Sourand.

 **Cloud** _Today at [21:13]_  
Yeah, Zack and I watched it  
I feel bad for the guy, though I probably piled on his account when that video of him drugging his chocobo leaked.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [21:14]_  
Oh?

 **Cloud** _Today at [21:14]_  
It wasn't the chocobo's fault that he couldn't handle the pressure of being a star or whatever he said.

Strife follows the comment with a set of red-faced, angry emojis. Emojis will never stop looking ridiculous to Sephiroth, though the ones that are just hand signals are decent.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [21:15]_  
That sounded like a PR statement.

 **Cloud** _Today at [21:15]_  
Yeah, so he probably didn't even mean it.

More angry, red-faced emojis. Sephiroth smiles, though he suspects that Strife's intention is not to be cute.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [21:15]_  
I don't think there's anything he could have said to redeem himself in the eyes of S.O.N. by that point.

 **Cloud** _Today at [21:16]_  
You're probably right  
He might have been able to turn things around if he'd lived  
But that documentary tried to make him seem nicer just so we'd feel bad for him

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [21:17]_  
It's a sad story regardless of Sourand's true character.

Why is he close to arguing over some dead chocobo jockey?

 **Cloud** _Today at [21:17]_  
That's true

Perhaps he's not as invested in the topic as the flurry of furious emojis suggests.

 **Cloud** _Today at [21:19]_  
Anyway, I'm going to officially like that fanart of you  
Zack says I'm kinda S.O.N. famous now  
Let's see what happens

The little dot indicating that Strife is using the S.O.N. app goes grey, so either he’s lost the connection or that was his way to say goodnight. Sephiroth stares at his icon for a few moments, then decides to check his official feed. He has the usual deluge of unsolicited private messages and commercial offers interspersed with standard ShinRa advertisements and propaganda. All exceedingly boring. He goes to Genesis’ feed, hoping that his fellow First is in the middle of some ridiculous argument about the symbolism in _Loveless_ , but a headline from _Access Midgar_ catches his eye.

_Romance Among SOLDIERs: Strife having an affair with Second Class Zack Fair._

Well. That’s such a common rumor that even Sephiroth has caught wind of it. Angeal has complained that Fair is having a rather tedious “sexuality crisis”, which Sephiroth had not considered important, since it had not affected his performance in the field. In all honesty, it still isn’t any of his business.

He clicks on the link anyway.

_A bombshell has hit the SOLDIER fandom this evening - thanks to none other than the city's favorite feisty cadet, Cloud Strife! At 15:00 hours, the stoic little chocobo changed his relationship status on S.O.N. to “Dating @ZackFair”, an action that was quickly mirrored by @ZackFair. Take notes, fanfic writers and fan artists._

_Zack Fair is a rank-and-file Second Class SOLDIER best known for. . ._

His selfies with Strife, apparently. Sephiroth scans the rest of the article, which is little more than a collection of Fair’s pictures with Strife captioned with outlandish speculation about where they were taken and how long Strife and Fair’s relationship had been going on. For some reason, _Access Migar_ is selling them as star-crossed lovers, even though they cannot identify anyone who might care that Strife and Fair are together. ShinRa has regulations regarding romantic and sexual relationships in the military, but they’re loosely enforced even outside SOLDIER. As long as Fair and Strife continue to do their jobs, no one will bat an eye. If anything, ShinRa would rather SOLDIERs’ entire lives, personal and otherwise, revolve around other members of ShinRa.

 _Just like yours,_ Sephiroth thinks, unbidden.

The thought makes him clutch his PHS so hard that he almost shatters it, though it’s hardly anything he doesn’t know.

Sephiroth breathes deeply, as he learned back in Wutain from warriors who knew they were mere moments from death. He does so until his heart calms, though his thoughts keep swimming through molasses, looking for something he does not remember losing.

Eventually, he gets up and heads to bed early. Tomorrow is another day. Monotonous or not, he has a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The truth is I usually skip the sex scenes in my romance novels and explicit fics lmao. Not even because I get embarrassed or anything, my attention just wanders.
> 
> Anyway, idk if this is any good but I figured after 80k words of confusion and complications, they deserved it lol


	26. Deserve What You Reap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Official meeting for the beautification and improvement of the slums. And ShinRa family drama.

Before the meeting with Tuesti, Genesis spends a few nights studying the history of Sector 6 right before bed. It’s really the history of Midgar itself. The glimmering metropolis in the desert, symbol of human ingenuity and dominance of nature itself. ShinRa's shining star ocean, with the unfinished Sector 7 left as-is to remind its citizens to keep reaching out to the future, to keep seeking out perfection and leave the rubble behind. The "history" according to the Turks, anyway, which is all but guaranteed to be more corporate fantasy than truth. At least it's a well-crafted fantasy.

While Midgar's construction was underway, Genesis was receiving his mako treatments from Hollander. His memories of the events are, thus, somewhat foggy. So are Angeal's, though he had been further along in the process. Regardless, he agrees with Genesis that Sector 6 is unfinished because ShinRa had decided to shift resources to expand their exploration and mining out to Gaia's most remote corners. Midgar had already been large enough to house the ravenous consumer base that would fund President ShinRa's quest for The Promised Land; no further investments in the shining star ocean would be necessary. According to ShinRa's Board of Executives, anyway, except for Reeve Tuesti. 

Aside from the rabid monster hunting, it promises to be the most important project that ShinRa might take on, if Tuesti manages to sell it. Which he won't - the man has the charisma of a wet blanket, nevermind that he's probably the best-looking person on that board - but Genesis has it on good authority that Prince ShinRa himself is interested in the project, and Sephiroth has agreed to lend out SOLDIERs for the task. Genesis had expected some kind of resistance about being the one to lead the project, but either Sephiroth doesn’t care about leadership in this case, or he’s still feeling guilty over The Incident. 

It has taken a life of its own in Genesis’ mind, though he’s not exactly angry at Sephiroth about it anymore. Not while Angeal seems recovered, anyway. Genesis still thinks of the moment on a regular basis: Angeal’s blood pooling at his feet while Sephiroth smirks, so unlike himself that it’d seemed like a different person altogether. The hours immediately after, with the doctor telling them that they needed blood for Angeal that no one could provide. The absolute fury after from President ShinRa, who could not believe that both Sephiroth and Genesis had provided the hospital with blood - and the body of a SOLDIER. The cold disregard for Angeal’s life, as though he’s no more than a profitable stock portfolio. Now that Genesis is emerging from the initial disoriented fog, he’s more concerned than ever about his legacy. 

"Okay, so this construction thing might happen then," Angeal says from his side of the bed. "I don't get why you care, though."

"Because it looks like they're proposing using SOLDIERs for construction detail as a cost-saving measure," says Genesis, as he scrolls down the document detailing the plan.

"Gen, don't take this the wrong way," says Angeal, "but I still don't get why you care."

"Because I want to be in charge of this mission, obviously."

"Of the construction mission," says Angeal, tone careful.

"Yes, I am capable of caring for things outside of my narrow interests in art, poetry, swordsmanship, materia, literature, fashion, music, history, anthropology, linguistics, and shall I go on?"

"Notice how none of those things involve manual labor," says Angeal, undaunted by Genesis' tone.

“I’ll not be the one doing the manual labor,” says Genesis. “That’s obviously going to the Seconds and Thirds. I bet your puppy will volunteer.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath for that,” says Angeal, unceremoniously taking the laptop off Genesis’ torso. “Come on, no work in bed.”

“I’m not _working_ ,” huffs Genesis, though he doesn’t reach out for the computer. “I’m researching.”

"Right," says Angeal, putting the laptop on the bedside table as he climbs onto Genesis. 

The responsible thing to do would be to push him off and get back to what he was doing, but Genesis is too grateful that Angeal is more or less back to his old self. No more spasms that leave him crippled with pain. No more hesitations on the battlefield. Or in bed. Angeal kisses him, and Genesis lets himself enjoy it, the feel of his tongue pushing into his mouth, strong and demanding, a prelude of what would come soon. Genesis moans.

"You're excited tonight," chuckles Angeal.

"Would you like me to go back to my research?" asks Genesis, slapping the back of his arm.

"No, love," says Angeal, with a soothing kiss. "Let me take care of you."

"As you like," says Genesis, trying for emperious, but sounding mostly breathless.

It's a great evening, uninterrupted by pain and accentuated with pleasure. It puts Genesis in the right mood to saunter to the board meeting taking place the next morning at the uppermost suite in ShinRa tower, where Tuesti (with support from Rufus ShinRa) will lay out his proposal to rebuild Sector 6 using SOLDIER labor. As expected, Tuesti has beaten him there, managing to look more flustered than even his prim and modest secretary in a navy suit, remarkable only thanks to its stubborn lack of style. How that man rose to ShinRa’s board of directors remains the biggest mystery in the entire company. Palmer is worse, but it’s no secret that he had been carried by star astronaut - and currently disgraced - Cid Highwind.

Genesis squares his shoulders, tells himself not to spook the man, and walks forward.

“Director Tuesti,” he says, with a brief nod.

As usual, Tuesti looks shocked that someone is speaking directly to him. “Commander Rhapsodos?” It probably wasn’t meant to sound like a question. 

“Yes, I’ve come because your plans for Sector 6 are intriguing,” says Genesis.

“Oh, I’m very glad to hear that,” says Tuesti. “I must admit I was surprised to have SOLDIER’s support; figured Sephiroth wouldn’t even hear me out, nevermind what Lazard said.”

By the Goddess, the man has no filter.

“Much can be said about our esteemed general,” says Genesis, “but he always hears what people have to say.”

“Oh, of course,” says Tuesti, brown eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise, but SOLDIER has never worked directly with Urban Development before. You see. . .” 

The door slides open as Tuesti babbles, and Scarlett glides in on her usual heels, a young male secretary trailing behind her like a puppy. Genesis smirks, thinking of the rumors that she makes that boy crawl behind her - literally - while they’re working in her department. And _Access Midgar_ had speculated on the HR implications of Strife being in a relationship with a SOLDIER. At some point, they might be required not to advertise that on S.O.N., but beyond that providing a thin veneer of plausible deniability? No one will care.

The rest of ShinRa’s executive department trails in over the next half an hour, ready to mingle and snipe at each other as though they’re in a figurative chess tournament. Scarlet and Heidegger dominate discussions while Hojo hovers around the breakfast table, peering at the muffins and strawberries as though he’d forgotten what food looks like. It seems that Hollander has not been invited to the meeting, or perhaps has elected to remain in his science dungeons. Good riddance. Genesis doesn’t want to see the man outside the routine exams. Palmer hovers close to Tuesti, though he shoots Genesis the occasional nervous glance. Genesis himself plays his part for SOLDIER, wearing a placid mask every time someone asks for Sephiroth. If he has his way, then he’ll not have to ignore breathless questions about Sephiroth’s whereabouts for long.

Half an hour before the meeting starts, the double doors slide open and Lazard walks in, accompanied by none other than Prince ShinRa himself. Lazard is dressed in his usual simple business casual clothes, while Rufus probably has an attendant in the limousine ready to handle any stains on his signature pristine white suits. They're about the same height, but Lazard always looks lessened next to Rufus, as though he's prey fleeing from a playful lion.

Genesis looks down to hide a little smirk. No one's immune to ShinRa family drama. Not even him. Especially not him. With a nod towards Tuesti, Genesis walks towards the breakfast table. Lazard has wandered to one of the ends, Rufus close on his heels, chattering away. Usually, Lazard does not eat during meetings, focused as he is on the work at hand. They probably think they’re being discreet, but Genesis’ enhanced hearing allows him to hear the conversation. 

"I thought you'd be happier, dear brother," says Rufus, "that the company is finally ready to invest in the slums."

"Don't call me that," hisses Lazard.

“Your parentage is one of the worst-kept secrets in ShinRa,” says Rufus.

Lazard looks at him. “I meant ‘dear’.”

Excellent comeback, and delivered with such quiet vitriol that even the Goddess would be impressed. Unfortunately, Rufus’ response is cut off by the door sliding open to let Strife hurry into the conference room, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. He spots Genesis, offers a quick salute when they make eye contact, and hurries over. 

“Thought I was late,” he says to Genesis, by way of greeting. 

“No; I decided to come early,” says Genesis, waving a dismissive hand. 

Lazard has managed to extricate himself from Rufus. Or perhaps he’s just gotten lucky. Prince ShinRa is walking towards them. 

“Is the food for everyone?” asks Strife, oblivious, as Genesis has come to expect.

“Yes, but mind your manners,” says Genesis, suppressing a shudder. Strife gnaws on meat like a beast.

“Sure,” mumbles Strife, eyeing the sausages and not bothering to offer Rufus more than a distracted nod. 

Sephiroth has been giving the boy too much freedom.

“Mr. Vice President,” says Genesis, going for a careless tone that borders on mockery.

“Commander Rhapsodos,” says Rufus, with a smile that looks like a smirk. “I see you’ve brought your infamous secretary.”

“I only have the one,” says Genesis, for once delighted that Strife is so odd that he doesn’t seem to register that a ShinRa is talking about him. In front of him.

“Boy,” says Rufus, sharply, as though speaking to an unruly dog.

Strife pauses as he reaches for a plate, tilting his head as though he _is_ a wild animal detecting potential prey out in the plains. It would be intimidating, if only Strife wasn’t so small.

“Come here, Strife,” says Genesis, trying to hide his amusement. “The vice president wants to meet you.”

Slowly, Strife walks towards them. Instead of angling himself to stay behind Genesis, he looks up at Rufus with an expressionless face. An idea crystalizes for Genesis: Strife carries himself like a man decades older - not bigger, necessarily - but certainly strong and confident, so sure of himself that defeat does not scare him. He carries himself like _Angeal_. For the first time, Genesis appreciates Strife’s beauty beyond the aesthetic point. 

“I see that S.O.N. is not wrong in their assessment of you,” says Rufus, after Strife fails to identify himself despite the tense silence.

“They’re probably right about you too,” says Strife. 

Genesis snorts, then opens his mouth to make a half-hearted attempt to smooth things over. Most of the S.O.N. gossip about Rufus is about how he’s a pretty boy spoiled by his powerful father. Aside from the expected fixation on his looks and fashion sense. Unfortunately, the door slides open before he can indulge in charged banter with Prince ShinRa, and none other than the king himself strides in, flanked by Tseng and two anonymous Turks. Rufus' eyes slide over to this father's entourage; he shoots Cloud a mean little smirk and then walks away to greet his father.

"Not a good idea to make enemies so far above you," says Genesis, patting Strife on the shoulder. 

"He's not above me," says Strife, shooting the ShinRas a scowl. 

"Just pay attention and take detailed notes," says Genesis, as he herds Cloud to the table. They don’t have time to go over the intricacies of ShinRa politics.

As representatives from SOLDIER, they get to sit quite close to the President himself. In fact, Genesis sits on the right, next to Rufus, with Strife next to him. Which means that he's the only person between them, an arrangement he hadn’t considered beforehand. He hadn’t even known that Rufus would be present. For a moment, as President ShinRa takes a seat and Tseng organizes a set of folders and opens a computer for him, Rufus and Strife actually look past Genesis to glare at each other. 

Hilarious, but Genesis will have to deal with Strife's insolence towards ShinRa executives, no matter how personally entertained he is by anyone putting Rufus in his place. ShinRa's prince could hold a grudge, and not just against a single person. Entire units had been disbanded because a single member had failed to show proper deference. Or so was the rumor, and he knew better than anyone how embellished those tended to be. Genesis had never worked with Rufus directly; the man might be quite reasonable, family drama aside. 

“We’re ready to begin,” says Tseng, not that anyone is talking. 

Tuesti shifts nervously, until he catches a look from Lazard and stills. The rest of the room has gone quiet and motionless.

Except for Strife, who takes out his trusty notebook and clicks his gel pen. When he looks up, President ShinRa is staring at him. Strife is as unfazed as he was when Rufus called for him. Insolence towards the president himself is nowhere near as amusing.

“Who’s this boy?” asks the president.

Tseng opens his mouth.

“Cadet Cloud Strife,” says Genesis, quickly. “New liaison for the First Class SOLDIERs. He hasn’t been trained in etiquette.” 

“Strife,” repeats the president, eyes narrow.

Strife’s just holding that pen and staring calmly, oblivious to the tension in the room. Even Rufus isn’t breathing. There’s no reason for President ShinRa to be acknowledging a secretary’s presence, especially since Strife hasn’t _done_ anything. Fidgeting and making noise might be uncouth, but it isn’t outright disrespectful.

“From Nibelheim,” says President ShinRa.

“Yeah,” says Cloud, though it isn’t a question.

Then, the situation grows exponentially more bizarre. The president opens his mouth and out comes a stream of words in the Old Tongue. Strife’s eyes widen, and then he responds in the same language. At Genesis’ side, Rufus’ jaw all but drops open in shock. The rest of the people at the table exchange nervous glances that both Strife and the president ignore as their conversation grows more animated. Neither one of them looks upset, which Genesis tries to interpret as a good sign. It certainly can’t cause too much trouble, though only practice keeps Genesis from revealing his unease. Only Tseng looks as placid as ever, stepping back to take his calm stance beside the other Turks. 

If the rumors about President ShinRa being one of the Old Folks is true, then Tseng would definitely know about it.

“Let us go on,” says President ShinRa, abruptly changing back to the Common Tongue. “Tuesti, about your plans?”

“Right,” says Tuesti, with a nervous cough. “As you all know. . .”

It goes well, not that Tuesti does a very good job of selling his plan. But he gets support from Genesis and Lazard, and - perhaps more importantly - from Rufus. At no point during the discussion does President ShinRa interrupt, and he does not seem impressed by Heidegger and Scarlet protesting that their departments could use any funds spent on silly architecture. Not that the man ever looks impressed by much of anything. He opens his mouth. . . and says something in the Old Tongue.

Strife - for the love of the Goddess - finishes up whatever note he’d been writing before looking up. He says something that Genesis cannot understand, and then President ShinRa nods thoughtfully and responds. 

They talk for five minutes. 

Genesis can tell because there’s a clock right behind Scarlet, and there aren’t many places to look while two people have an incomprehensible conversation. Abruptly, Strife turns to Tuesti.

“What about maintenance above the plate?” asks Strife. “How will you handle that while doing all this rebuilding down in the slums?”

“I have a team of accomplished engineers and architects,” says Tuesti.

“Yeah, but won’t they all get overworked?” insists Strife.

“That’s why SOLDIER has offered to assist,” Genesis jumps him, glad that they’re back to the Common Tongue. “SOLDIERs are not easily tired. We’ve been looking for a worthy mission to keep the Thirds productive.” 

“I have plenty of things to keep your SOLDIERs busy with,” snaps Heidegger. 

“I’m sure you do,” says Genesis. “But few are worth the danger to my men.”

President ShinRa says something in the Old Tongue. 

Strife looks at him for a moment, absentmindedly twirling his pen. “You’re rich enough,” he says, shrugging. “If you wanted to do it, you would.”

President ShinRa leans forward and says something else in the Old Tongue.

With a smile, Strife leans back in his chair and responds with something incomprehensible. Damn it, but Genesis should have taken the time to study the blasted language.

“That’s hard to argue with,” says President ShinRa, smirking and nodding.

Cloud shrugs, and offers a little smirk of his own.

There’s a tense - and rather hilarious - moment of dead silence. Heidegger looks at Strife as though the boy is a Behemoth from the Northern Crater. Rufus’ jaw is tight. Scarlett is practically salivating. Only Lazard seems bored by the entire bizarre exchange.

“Reeve,” says President ShinRa, still looking at Strife, “I approve of the plan. Get started as soon as possible and keep Tseng posted.”

“Ah, of course, sir,” says Tuesti, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “Thank you; I will not disappoint you.”


	27. The Man in the Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> President ShinRa is bored old man, deep down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm back at work, I'm more stressed out than ever so the updates will be slower. Even though the work is written, it still needs one last round of edits and sometimes scenes need to be written from scratch. My brain is pretty scattered considering.
> 
> I don't expect work to ease up until the end of the year.

Occasionally, Tseng wonders how long it’ll be until Rufus realizes that he speaks the Old Tongue. Better than Rufus himself, if the way he grows stilted and hesitant whenever he talks to his father is anything to go by.

"From where do you know that boy?" Rufus asks President ShinRa, as the elevator takes them to the top floor of ShinRa Tower.

"I do not," says President ShinRa, stroking his chin. "I know his mother."

"Is he your bastard?" asks Rufus.

"That certainly would be flattering," says President ShinRa, with a loud chuckle.

President ShinRa would see it that way, if Claudia Strife got pregnant by him and chose to carry the child to term and then raise him even though he had turned out to be a boy. From what Tseng had gathered during his investigation into Cloud Strife's background, his mother has the type of independent streak that President ShinRa would respect.

The remainder of the elevator ride is quiet. Uncomfortably so, at least for Rufus and Tseng. For his part, the President seems as amused and uncaring as ever. Rufus makes sure to catch Tseng's gaze, and it's not clear what he wants. Tseng hates that about the man; his job hinges on being able to read people and predict their actions, but he can't ever tell what Rufus ShinRa is thinking. All he's sure of is that Rufus is not the vapid socialite teenager that the world sees. Not entirely.

The conversation continues when they reach President ShinRa's office suite, but Tseng only half-listens to it. If Cloud Strife is President ShinRa's son, it's not a connection that has proven relevant to the boy's strange nature. Considering how the Old Folk view familial relationships and wealth, it will not be. Why Rufus doesn’t seem to see that is a mystery to Tseng. He suspects it has to do with his mother.

While Rufus and the President continue their heated discussion, Tseng takes the opportunity to gather his thoughts. How irritating for Strife to bulldoze his way to the center of attention during a ShinRa Corporation board meeting. And Tseng had judged the boy prudent. He sighs and starts looking around President ShinRa’s office. It's not often that he has time to admire the few objects in President ShinRa's personal space.

He doesn’t mean the expensive oak desk burnished with gold, or the Behemoth leather sofas, that catch his attention. Those are present to impress investors, not because President ShinRa is particularly fond of flaunting his wealth. The pictures are the clues to President ShinRa's heart and mind. Above the main desk is an overhead shot of Midgar as it had been twenty years ago, long before Tseng had ever heard of the place, taken from a helicopter. Smaller, less bright, and with a single mako reactor spewing fumes at the sky. No one had taken the company seriously then. Tseng wondered if he would have, had he been old enough and in a position to listen to a young man that had sauntered down from the mountains, expelled by his own people for his impudence.

The other walls are adorned with photos of ShinRa in his youth with his earlier associates and friends: ShinRa with a much younger Heidegger, ShinRa and Cid Highwind smeared with grease as they work on an engine, ShinRa down in Wall Market at one of Don Corneo’s establishments. There’s a single picture of his wedding. Another one of him standing with Hojo and an infant that could only be Sephiroth. Tseng doesn’t think that ShinRa considers these people his family, or even his friends, but they are important to him.

Tseng stops by the glass window facing Midgar, near the wall, where the President has hung a photo of himself in Wutai. It's him and Lord Godo shaking hands to seal Wutai's surrender, both men looking grim. They had not gotten along, had outright despised each other. Godo had thought of ShinRa as an upstart, arrogant fool, untethered from his people and ready to spit in the face of god itself to get his way, unconcerned with who or what he had to trample to achieve his goals. For his part, ShinRa considered Godo a relic of the past, so enamored of dead men that he would hold the world back from greatness. There's no love lost between the two of them, though they still speak often. Wutai is stubborn, still fighting ShinRa from the shadows, the last people on Gaia who refuse to submit to ShinRa. Godo doesn’t exactly approve of the rebellion, but his control of the region is limited, to put it mildly.

Once, Tseng had asked President ShinRa why he kept the picture, and in such a peculiar spot. This is where ShinRa likes to stand to gaze down at Midgar, his triumph of ingenuity and engineering. Why would he put a picture of one of his greatest enemies in his favorite spot?

"Don't be foolish, boy," President ShinRa had said. "This is not a photo of Godo."

Then maybe ShinRa likes gazing at himself in his moment of triumph. The only other person in the picture is Tseng himself, and only half of him is visible in the corner, holding ShinRa's copy of Wutai's official surrender.

The sound of footsteps interrupts Tseng’s train of thought; he turns around just in time to meet Rufus’ questioning gaze.

“You have thoroughly investigated this boy’s background, I assume?”

Tseng nods. “Since he became an official secretary for the Firsts.”

“And?”

“If he’s related to President ShinRa,” says Tseng, looking past Rufus, “he either does not know or has chosen to keep it to himself. Not once in nearly three years has he ever alluded to such a thing. Not in public.”

“But there are rumors,” insists Rufus.

“Because he’s blond and suddenly entered the Firsts’ sphere,” says Tseng.

“And how did he manage such a thing?” asks Rufus, looking down his nose at Tseng. “Don’t you find it odd?”

“He won a tournament for it,” says Tseng, “which caused a bit of a stir, since he was not expected to.” He turns towards President ShinRa. “It has to do with the strange cases of alleged mako poisoning that Dr. Hollander is investigating.”

Rufus lays a hand on Tseng’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “Don’t look past me when I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

President ShinRa chuckles from a few feet away, though he probably had not heard what Rufus said.

“My apologies, Mr. Vice President,” says Tseng, just as softly. “Perhaps you should ask your question directly.”

He holds Rufus’ gaze and stays stubbornly relaxed, though the brat still has his hand on Tseng’s shoulder. An obvious attempt at dominance, taking full advantage of his superior height and Tseng’s slight frame, as though something as crass as physical size could intimidate Tseng. Nevertheless, Rufus is in a position of power and likely to accrue more as he ages. It would be best not to antagonize him needlessly, even if President ShinRa is rather fond of Tseng. So he waits for Rufus to soothe his ego and lift his hand off Tseng’s shoulder, for the brat to ask him for a concise summary regarding Strife.

There isn’t much to tell besides wild S.O.N. speculation. Cloud Strife left Nibelheim when he was around fourteen, travelled the entirety of Gaia doing odd jobs for scattered Old Folk businesses and settlements, then enlisted in ShinRa’s SOLDIER program and failed the first round of tests because he is physically smaller than most men. He had been allowed another chance since his instructors liked him well enough and hoped that a growth spurt would help him compete. Aside from his relationship with Zack Fair - a nonentity himself, despite his undeniable talent - Strife has carried out his duties and minded his own business. His instructors predicted he would not make the cut in SOLDIER, but only because there were more qualified candidates. They had recommended him for the regular army.

Then the so-called mako poisoning struck him.

An unexpected turn of events, but not one that reflects on Strife himself one way or the other. Not with all the evidence of mako disturbances with the wildlife throughout Gaia. They all had known that it was a matter of time until the sickness reached the human population. That Strife had not immediately descended into rabid fury had been quite a relief to them, especially since the other cadet affected had fared much worse. Tseng shudders, imagining the absolute disaster that would ensue if people started going rabid en masse.

“Why would this infection affect only two people?” asks Rufus. They have since moved to the couches to discuss the issue at length, and he has calmed down. Enough to listen and process information without needing to assert his superiority every other second.

“That’s a question for the Science Department,” says Tseng.

“There will be others,” says Rufus, tapping his fingers together - the only sign of potential distress Tseng can discern. “There have been others already. We just don’t know of them yet.”

“You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs,” says President ShinRa.

“That doesn’t mean we have to slam the eggs on the floor,” says Rufus.

“And who’s doing that?” asks President ShinRa.

“Hollander reports that the disease does not spread easily,” interjects Tseng, sensing that they’re close to an argument, “nor does it seem to be transmitted from person to person, as traditional infectious diseases.”

“How convenient for our business interests,” says Rufus, with a small smirk.

Perhaps. It’s certainly true that a quarantine has not been considered, not while the disease is rare and its mode of transmission incomprehensible. Not that ShinRa would necessarily enforce or even recommend a quarantine if they understood how the disease spreads, since such a plan would cripple the company’s revenue stream.

“So Strife is just a random bystander, then?” asks Rufus.

“Of a sort,” says Tseng. In all honesty, he’d forgotten Strife altogether. The threat of an epidemic is exponentially more horrific than the enigma that is Cloud Strife.

“What do you mean?” asks Rufus.

“There are certain inconsistencies regarding Strife that cannot be explained by any disease,” says Tseng.

“Such as?” prompts Rufus.

Tseng has discussed the matter at length with President ShinRa and ruminated on it privately even more. “He lied to protect an ecoterrorist,” he says, then goes on to explain the incident at the bike shop.

It remains the only thing about Strife that Tseng cannot explain away. The boy had no ties to ecoterrorism at the time, nor has he forged any since. From what Tseng’s spy networks have gathered, Avalanche has not even realized that a SOLDIER cadet lied for them (they’d captured the terrorist that Strife had lied for, of course, and the man had assumed that Strife tried to trick him).

“That doesn’t make any sense,” says Rufus.

Tseng agrees.

“He let the thief go on a whim,” says President ShinRa.

“But why?” demands Rufus.

“Why not?” Once again, the President shrugs. “Only he knows; go ask him if you’re so curious.”

“I would prefer you didn’t,” Tseng says, quickly. “There are other discrepancies regarding Strife, and his behavior will be more revealing than anything he might say under duress.”

“What other _discrepancies_?” asks Rufus.

“He knows the Cetra,” says Tseng.

Rufus freezes for a moment, then his blue eyes flit towards his father. "I'm surprised you aren't personally torturing information out of him."

"I'm not the monster you tell yourself I am," says President ShinRa, with a placid shrug.

Does Rufus believe in the legends that have motivated his father's relentless work? Tseng is not sure that he does, but it is his duty to support that man's ambitions regardless of why he has them in the first place.

"I should clarify that the Cetra approached Strife," says Tseng, "not the other way around."

"Does that matter?" Rufus asks his father.

"She's an envoy of the Planet herself," says President ShinRa, voice deep and back straight. "If she has approached this boy, then the Planet wants him to do something. Let's wait and see what it is."

The reasoning might be mad, but the action isn't. Someone is pulling Cloud Strife's strings, in a matter that is not easily understood. Since the boy does not pose any immediate danger, the best course of action is to wait and see what his plans are. Tseng already rushed the process when he asked Sephiroth directly about Strife's connection to Aerith. He'd gotten the Silver General sticking his nose into Turk files for his trouble.

"This is mad," Rufus says, still looking at his father. "You're letting an obvious spy into our board meetings, into our elite military corps."

"My board meetings," corrects President ShinRa. "My elite military corps."

"He's not working for _the Planet_ ," spits Rufus. "He's working for one of the many enemies you've made on the way to the top."

"Those enemies are the Planet as well," says President ShinRa, in the Old Tongue. "Remember that, boy. The Planet is you, me, the people that love us, and the people that hate us. Let's see what it has in store for us."

* * *

Cloud doesn’t worry about President ShinRa talking to him while it’s happening. Or, rather, he does, but only in the background somewhere, as though a part of him had been observing the meeting through a panel of thick, fogged glass. ShinRa is the richest man in the world, the one orchestrating the absolute devastation of the Planet, but also just a man. One who’d died alone, skewered by the culmination of his abuses against nature. Really, he should worry more, but his mako thoughts tend to alter his views of what is and isn’t dangerous.

“You’d never met the president before,” says Commander Rhapsodos, in the elevator.

“No,” says Cloud, avoiding his gaze. “I mean, he asked who I was outright.”

“And you carried yourself with considerable confidence.”

“I probably should have kept my mouth shut,” says Cloud, with a heavy sigh. The enormity of what had happened is catching up to him. President ShinRa _knows his name_. And he can’t even blame Sephiroth for it. “Fuck.”

“He did speak to you first,” says Commander Rhapsodos.

The elevator door slides open, and a man in a dark suit walks in. He seems to recognize Rhapsodos, gives a nervous smile, and then the man pulls out his PHS. A second before snapping a picture, he seems to realize that it’s rude to just photograph people without asking. He stares at Rhapsodos for a moment, opens his mouth, then seems to choke. Rhapsodos gives him a flat look. The man slides to the opposite corner and tries his best to look busy, but he can’t resist darting his eyes towards them. Rhapsodos snorts.

“How did I even get here?” Cloud asks no one in particular. Perhaps Odin is listening and laughing his ass off out in the cosmos.

The man hurries out of the elevator a few floors later, and Cloud sighs again.

“I must caution you regarding your tone,” says Commander Rhapsodos.

“I was nice,” protests Cloud. ShinRa ought to be thankful that Cloud didn’t spit on him on sight. He’s the one who bankrolled the tragedy that was his life.

“You almost bit Rufus’ head off,” says Rhapsodos.

“Oh, him,” grunts Cloud. “He’s a dick.” The elevator door slides open at the SOLDIER floor, and Cloud all but scurries away like the fanboy had. “Do you need anything, sir?”

“I need you to understand that your position comes with an expectation of deference,” says Rhapsodos. “Even when dealing with - to use your crass vernacular - a dick.”

Cloud opens his mouth to insist that he’d been _nice _,__ but he hadn’t been with Rufus, and Rhapsodos does not understand the Old Tongue. “Okay,” he says instead. “I’ll say white’s my favorite color next time.”

Rhapsodos smirks, but he pats Cloud on the shoulder. “I have work I must return to, but you will recount your conversation with ShinRa later.”

“Okay,” says Cloud, eager to end the interaction.

Cloud rushes to his little office after, avoiding any and all eye contact. He wants to hope that ShinRa will forget all about him, that Rufus will get into a pissing contest with some other unfortunate bastard who didn’t know well enough to bow and keep his mouth shut. But hoping for the best has never gotten him anywhere good. Knowing his luck, he just started another S.O.N. scandal.

He doesn’t get a chance to check. The calls start coming and don’t let up, now that the reconstruction plan is officially happening. The annoying calls from magazines and brands keep coming too, but Cloud loses patience faster than usual and turns off the non-essential PHS. For all the talk of exhaustion and a supposed lack of resources, it sure seems that half of ShinRa had been doing nothing before ShinRa approved Reeve’s new project.

Reeve?

Cloud grunts. He means Director Tuesti.

Before he can set out for the usual 10:00 hours meeting with Sephiroth, Lazard himself visits Cloud’s office.

“Hi,” says Cloud, looking down. “I have to go see General Sephiroth soon.”

Lazard ignores that. “Had you ever met the president before?”

“No.” Cloud can say that easily enough, while looking straight at Lazard’s blue eyes. They’d found ShinRa skewered on a kodachi, and another time, Barret had talked to him for a handful of minutes. And then Sephiroth skewered them both with his ridiculous sword.

“What did he say to you?” asks Lazard.

“Nothing that interesting,” shrugs Cloud. “He just asked me what I thought, and I said the slums are super ugly, which. . . who cares? Except maybe rich people, which he is, so I figured that might get him to spend some money there. Then, he said something about the company being busy with other stuff, and I almost said I didn’t think so, considering all the bullshit calls I have to answer.”

“Thank Gaia you had enough sense not to say that,” interrupts Lazard.

“I’m not a moron,” says Cloud. “So then I asked Director Tuesti about that, and I hoped everyone would just forget about me. . . That didn’t happen.”

“It was an admirable attempt,” says Lazard.

“Thanks,” says Cloud, sighing. “Then, he asked me what I thought he should do-”

“He asked you what?”

Cloud shrugs and says the phrase in the Old Tongue, just in case Lazard secretly understands it. But no, Lazard’s eyes narrow in incomprehension.

“What do you think I should do?” Cloud translates. “So I told him he was rich enough to do whatever-”

“That part, you said in the Common Tongue,” says Lazard.

Cloud had not meant to, but okay. “And then he said that he was rich ‘cause he wasn’t just throwing his money around on whatever tingled his fancy.”

“Tingled his fancy,” repeats Lazard.

“Translations aren’t an exact science,” says Cloud. “And then I said that it didn’t sound like there was much of a difference between a rich and poor man, then. And then he said. . .”

“That’s difficult to argue with,” finishes Lazard.

“Well, it is,” says Cloud.

“Did you want him to approve the project?” asks Lazard.

“I wanted him to stop talking to me,” says Cloud. It’s the truth. The slums could use all the help on Gaia, but nothing ShinRa gives is worth the price. Nothing.

Cloud’s PHS vibrates before Lazard can say anything.

 **Sephiroth** _Today at [09:42]_  
Why are you late?

“I have to go; the General’s waiting for me,” says Cloud, typing a quick response for Sephiroth. “Do you need anything else, Director?”

"Not from you," says Lazard, shaking his head tiredly.

Cloud nods, eager to take the opportunity to extricate himself from the conversation, and starts walking around Lazard.

"And Rufus?" Lazard asks, before he's through the door. "You ever met him before?"

"No, sir," says Cloud. "I'm nobody. Or I was, before S.O.N. lost their minds."

"If I may offer a word of advice, Strife," says Lazard, with a serious look. "Take care of how you comport yourself around the ShinRas."

"Yeah," says Cloud, with a nod. "I know."


	28. Mrs. Strife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud gets a phone call from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week was slightly better than the last. Small blessings, I guess. Thanks to my friend Ro for still helping with this fic which has been going on for more than half a year. Can't believe it sometimes.

Zack doesn't have any pending missions on his roster. That could be because Lazard is trying to get a feel for the newly promoted batch of Thirds, because his workload is decreasing as his rank increases, or any other number of reasons that don't have much to do with anything in particular. ShinRa's bureaucracy rarely makes sense, even for SOLDIERs, and they have some of the least ridiculous leaders. Maybe they want Zack to take more of a mentorship role; tomorrow, he'll have to assist Armstrong in a workshop about identifying, avoiding, and fleeing from powerful monsters.

Or maybe he's being surveilled because of what's happening with Cloud.

Well, obviously. ShinRa is obsessed with information, if only so they can advertise bullshit better. But it's the first time that the background spying feels more personal. Or something.

His PHS vibrates while he muses about it.

 **Cloud** _Today at [11:45]_  
Idk what S.O.N. is saying about me now, but it's probably dumb and not true. Also, I'm okay.

 **Zack** _Today at [11:45]_  
I'm not looking at the cesspool. You gotta silence that shit or it’ll take over your life.

 **Cloud** _Today at [11:46]_  
Good, ‘cause it's the worst. See you later.

 **Zack** _Today at [11:46]_  
K

Well, he definitely has to check S.O.N. out _now_.

There's nothing of note - that is to say, the nonsensical speculation is raging, but no more or less than it was the last time Zack checked. Whatever flustered Cloud, it either wasn't as significant as he imagined or the Turks snuffed it out of the public discourse immediately.

He goes about his usual teaching duties, putting thoughts of ridiculous S.O.N. drama aside, since Cloud sounds about as well as can be expected. Even Angeal is almost back to his old self too; things are looking up. If it's anything serious with Cloud, he'll hear about it soon enough. In fact, he hears about it later that night when Cloud returns from his duties, talking on one of the PHSes.

"I already said, multiple times, that Commander Rhapsodos has a full schedule until the fifteenth of next month," Cloud rants at someone while Zack wraps an arm around his waist from behind and lifts him off the floor. "Oh, you're going to complain about me?" he goes, all while Zack marches to the couch so they can cuddle. "However will I recover?"

Cloud clicks the PHS off while Zack laughs.

" _However will I recover?_ " mimics Zack, trying for Rhapsodos' hoity-toity tone.

"He must be rubbing off on me," says Cloud, twisting around a little to pull Zack down for a kiss.

A lazy, soft kiss, leaning all his weight down on Zack, who starts pulling at his shirt to slip a hand under it. He has idle plans somewhere in the back of his mind to go further, but mostly, he wants to feel the warmth of Cloud's skin. He still doesn’t quite believe that he gets to do this without guilt. Cloud squirms and deepens the kiss, trying to wiggle around so they're face-to-face. With a grunt, Zack moves to lie on the couch.

Just as he starts to slide his thigh between Cloud's legs, Cloud pushes at him lightly. Zack leans back and raises an eyebrow at Cloud's narrowed eyes.

"Did you know that President ShinRa is one of the Old Folks?" asks Cloud.

“Well, that's flattering,” says Zack, gesturing down at their crotches vaguely. “Thinking about ShinRas, and not even the hot one, while I’m trying to get you in the mood?”

“Ugh, calm down,” says Cloud, pushing him off. “I’ll blow you once I figure this out, but right now, I need to focus.”

Zack’s brain short-circuits while Cloud straightens up on the couch. And to think he’d expected that Cloud would be shy and hesitant in bed.

“Well?” insists Cloud.

"Nah," says Zack, remembering the question about President ShinRa. There are rumors, but there are also rumors that the ShinRas are aliens. "Does it matter?"

"I don't know," says Cloud. "I don't remember. But I also don't remember me being one of the Old Folks, and it sounds like I am. Maybe it's like the Ancients."

Zack opens his mouth, but all he can manage is a tired noise.

"None of this makes sense," says Cloud.

"I'm choosing to see the fact that you get that as a sign of improvement," says Zack.

That earns him an annoyed look, but luckily, Cloud looks pretty cute when he's mad. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“I believe that you believe what you’re telling me,” says Zack, carefully.

“That’s a condescending way of saying you don’t believe me!” Cloud glares, then rubs at his eyes in frustration.

“Cloud-”

“You were at the ravine, too!” says Cloud, turning towards him, face red. “You saw what I saw. Or at least some of it.”

“I saw - and _felt_ \- weird shit while fighting some unidentified mako monster thing with unidentified powers,” says Zack. “What’s more likely, Spike: that I saw a vision from some future other world, or that the unidentified mako monster thing was trying to fuck with my head?”

Cloud's eyes widen, and his hands curl into fists. He opens his mouth, but manages only a pained grunt before he has to look down, swallowing loudly.

"Spike," starts Zack, feeling like a heel. He has to be more patient; none of this is Cloud's fault.

Zack reaches for Cloud's shoulder, but the landline phone rings before he can touch him. Cursing, he slides closer to the edge of the couch, wondering who on Gaia could be calling him. His parents would just call his PHS, and so would anyone in ShinRa. It must be a telemarketer.

"Zack Fair," he spits at the phone. "What do you want?"

"This is Claudia Strife," answers a feminine voice.

 _Holy shit,_ thinks Zack.

"My son has told me that you're his friend, and I have a message for him," continues Mrs. Strife.

"Oh. . . he's actually here now," says Zack.

Cloud is looking up as Zack glances at him.

"Excellent," says Mrs. Strife.

"Yeah," says Zack, as Cloud looks at him with a question in his gaze.

"Put him on the line," says Mrs. Strife, with a note of impatience.

After a second of hesitation, Zack hands the phone to Cloud. "It's your mom."

For a moment, Cloud seems taken aback. Then he all but leaps forward to take the phone.

"Ma!" he says while Zack wriggles under the phone wire to get up.

Without a lick of shame, he tries to take advantage of his enhanced hearing, but Cloud and his mom speak to each other in the Old Tongue. Typical. Zack wanders into the kitchen, trying to at least keep track of the tones of their voices. The good news is that Cloud relaxes - as much as he ever does, anyway - almost immediately. From what he can pick up from the few words he knows, it seems like nothing serious is going on in Nibelheim. Zack opens the fridge, wishing it was possible for him to get well and truly shit-faced drunk, as he gathers bits and pieces of his boyfriend's conversation.

Judging by the names that are coming up, Cloud's mom has gotten a hold of some magazines. Probably _Access Midgar_. That rag gets distributed everywhere. Cloud blushes red as a tomato when the name ShinRa comes up, so his ma probably got a hold of the edition with the breathless speculation about Cloud maybe being a ShinRa bastard. Because he's blond. That bit of the conversation doesn't last much longer, since there's literally nothing to the rumor.

Then, Cloud's voice gets lower, perhaps unintentionally, and Tifa's name comes up. Whatever Mrs. Strife says, it makes Cloud's shoulders hunch. He hums, then offers a halted response. Zack takes a gulp from the beer that won't even touch his system. Tifa. The girl that Cloud had been all loopy about even before the mako clusterfuck started. Zack doesn't want to be a jealous ogre, especially not over a girl who is literally thousands of miles away, but apparently, this is what love does to him.

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. Cloud is not calling for him, merely telling his mother something about him. That they're together? Would Mrs. Strife approve? Fuck if he knows. All he can gather is that Cloud sounds happier, but they might not be talking about him anymore.

The conversation moves on to Sephiroth. His name comes up, at least, but they don’t spend much time on him, either. But they do talk, long enough that Zack finishes his beer, then fries some sausages. He makes enough for Cloud, privately lamenting that he can't pass for a decent cook. It’s not like anyone could fuck up sausages, though. The savory scent fills the apartment as Cloud rambles on to his mother. At one point, he even laughs, and it strikes Zack as he fills the plates just how _long_ it’d been since Cloud had laughed.

During their date? Maybe. If so, he hadn’t sounded so happy.

While Zack puts the plates on the counter, Cloud hangs up the phone and beams at him from the couch.

“Good talk?” asks Zack.

“Ma believes me,” says Cloud, smirking as he stands up.

“That’s great,” says Zack, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He doesn’t want to think about what that woman’s ‘solution’ to Cloud’s mako delusions would be. “Did you tell her that we’re together?”

“Yeah,” says Cloud.

“And?”

“She said you better be strong, since you didn’t sound too smart,” says Cloud.

“I talked to her for like five seconds,” says Zack, huffing. “Nevermind. Does she approve?”

“Of what?”

“Of the weather,” says Zack. “Of us dating, doofus!”

“What do you me- Oh, right,” says Cloud, tilting his head. “The Old Folk don’t do that. She wouldn’t think to tell me who I should date.” He narrows his eyes the way he does when he’s thinking of translating something his ma told him. “My mind, body, and heart are mine alone, to share as I see fit.”

“Glad she’s okay with you sharing yourself with an idiot, then,” says Zack.

“You’re not an idiot,” says Cloud, walking over hesitantly.

“I know,” says Zack, feeling like the worst sort of scum. Is he trying to snuff out Cloud’s sudden good mood? “I’m just worried, is all. Last thing I need is your mom telling you to . . .ride into battle against Sephiroth or something.”

“Ma says I should be cautious,” says Cloud, as he grabs a fork and starts fiddling with his food. “She knows I’m no match for Sephiroth head-on. I should be careful, as clever as Loki marching to Hel to rescue Thor.”

“So, will you listen to me if I say to be careful with Old God metaphors?”

Cloud smiles, biting into his sausage with gusto. “I do listen to you," he says, talking with his mouth full. "Come on, smile, Zack. I’ll still blow you later.”

“You don’t have to,” says Zack.

“I know I don’t _have_ to, geez,” says Cloud. “You say the strangest things sometimes.”

And Zack can’t help it. He bursts out laughing, a little hysterically. Considering the gems Cloud has been dropping lately, that’s. . . He doesn’t have the words.

Regardless, Cloud laughs too, as happily as he’d done with his mother. For a moment, the stone in Zack’s belly feels lighter.

* * *

Life in ShinRa continues on, boring and cyclical as ever. At least, if Sephiroth’s journal is anything to go by. The issue of Cryptogenic Mako Poisoning hangs in the background, masquerading as one of Hollander’s experiments. His students start loitering the rec rooms all over the tower, stopping employees and randomly taking their vitals without rhyme or reason. The memo about it says something about a demographic study, but Sephiroth doubts many people even get to that paragraph. He would forget the ordeal too, but he has Strife to concern himself with. As promised, he has continued overseeing the boy’s training, all the while reporting to Hollander.

“This is a marvelous natural process; the boy’s reflexes and grip are on par with yours!” Hollander tells him once, scratching his unkempt beard.

“They’re not,” says Sephiroth. Unless Strife is holding back during their training sessions.

“Oh, feeling challenged are you?” Hollander edges closer to him, peering as though Sephiroth is a bug under a microscope. “If you allow me to perform some tests-”

“No.” Not even the brief satisfaction of helping Hojo’s chief competitor could persuade Sephiroth to submit for more scientific poking and prodding.

“Fine,” snaps Hollander, reeling backwards. He grins at the screen displaying Strife’s latest lab work and assorted exam findings - most of it is gibberish to Sephiroth. “The cadet is practically a fountain of new information.”

After Hollander has spent a solid twenty seconds fiddling with Strife’s chart, Sephiroth gathers that he’s been dismissed and leaves the man’s office without saying a word. Threatening Hollander would be a waste of time; men of his ilk always think they can get away with anything and everything. He waits until after his next training session with Strife, after the boy is done dry-heaving on the mat. A couple of Thirds have been watching them, but they’re respectful enough, and Strife seems to have gotten used to spectators. He is getting stronger and faster, but still has a tendency to push himself to dangerous extremes.

Sephiroth has been careful to stop the spars before Strife shows obvious signs of exhaustion, but it doesn’t matter much. Always, after he calls the session off, Strife will suddenly fall to the mat and dry-heave, as though he’d been actually trying to defeat Sephiroth in a real fight. Sephiroth had ordered him more than once to be more careful, but Strife merely looks at him with poorly hidden confusion before nodding absently. Perhaps he doesn’t know how to spar without giving it his all. He is one of the Old Folk, after all, and they are rumored to be a very intense group of people.

“Has Hollander been treating you well?” Sephiroth asks him, taking advantage of the fact that the Thirds are undoubtedly listening.

“As well as any doctor would,” says Strife, shrugging.

The phrasing catches Sephiroth off-guard. Most people hold physicians in high regard, at least those outside ShinRa’s laboratories. Hollander is one of ShinRa’s doctors, though, so Strife’s distaste shouldn’t be surprising.

“He doesn’t have clearance to give you mako injections,” says Sephiroth, voice pitched lower.

“I know,” says Strife.

“He’s not cleared to give you anything,” says Sephiroth, stepping closer so he can lower his voice further. The Thirds take their cue and walk to the opposite end of the gym.

“I know,” repeats Strife, gaze far away. “No pills, no injections, no nothing.”

That’s about as handled as it can be for the moment. Sephiroth dismisses him with instructions regarding upcoming meetings, then heads to the showers. The situation with the mako-corrupted monsters is not improving; two-thirds of all SOLDIER missions for the last month have involved hunting down aggressive beasts going after human settlements. The only positive is that nowhere has been as disastrous as Mideel. They're nowhere near Midgar, but Sephiroth has to prepare for the worst.

"It's only a matter of time, sir," Fair tells him several days later, in another of ShinRa's interminable meetings.

Lately, all Fair has been doing is hunting mako-corrupted monsters. During his last mission, he'd had to call a trio of Thirds to help beat back a slew of corrupted Bombs that swarmed Kalm. They'd been driven back, but only after razing two farms and landing one of the SOLDIERs on Hojo's operating table with third degree burns on over half his body. The man would heal, but something had kept the Bombs from dissipating back to the Lifestream, kept searing bits of burning, leathery skin adherent to the SOLDIER's armor. Sephiroth had seen the footage captured by the accompanying Turk. He does not have a weak stomach, but there had been something about that SOLDIER's shocked screams that almost made him look away.

Fair had been there, had tried to use Water materia to assist his comrade and succeeded. To an extent. It had not been enough. The last bit of footage is of him, looking up at the Turk with shocked disbelief in his mako-bright eyes and screaming _Fucking shit, do something, he's literally burning alive_. Now, he stands before Sephiroth, ramrod-straight and grim, while Lazard waits patiently and Strife takes his usual notes.

"Twice in two weeks," he says, flatly, "these things have gotten close enough to Kalm to fu- attack their crops."

"Please speak candidly, SOLDIER," Lazard says, with a thin smile. "I did grow up below the plates, after all."

Fair glances at him and nods. "Then let me candidly suggest that you station a battalion at the Southeastern part of Kalm. The monsters from the marsh near the mythril mines are infected with whatever this is, so they'll keep coming even if they got enough food."

"That would be quite the financial investment," says Lazard.

"I'm sure," says Fair, shrugging. "So is sending SOLDIERs every time something tries to burn Kalm to the ground."

"Perhaps some of Heidegger's machines?" says Lazard, stroking his chin.

"They'd probably incinerate Kalm before the Bombs," says Fair.

Sephiroth bites back a smile.

"Nevertheless," says Lazard, "Heidegger would be the one to establish formal military presence in Kalm."

"We could spare one or two SOLDIERs at most," says Sephiroth. They have the usual Midgar security to handle, the Northern Crater expedition is starting soon, and now, Tuesti's mission. "I will pursue the matter myself. You're dismissed."

Fair bows and starts turning around.

Strife angles towards him, as though intending to follow.

"We have work," Sephiroth tells him.

For a moment, Strife wilts. Then, Fair graces him with a reassuring smile, and something in him changes. Strife's shoulders loosen, and a gentle, tiny smile takes over his face. It's the first time, Sephiroth realizes, that Strife has been truly calm in his presence. Then, he notices Sephiroth looking and tenses all over again, as though electrocuted, cheeks growing pink.

"Later, Spike," says Fair, confusing Sephiroth.

Then, Strife nods and waves, and Sephiroth mentally slaps himself. Strife's hair, of course. It's a nickname. Or pet name.

Fair salutes at him, then finally leaves the conference room. Lazard follows soon after, with some vague politeness about paperwork. He tells Strife to pencil yet another meeting later in the week to finalize the mission roster for the following month, which will officially include the personnel that will assist the urban development.

Finally, Sephiroth is alone with Strife.

"You needed something, sir?" he asks.

"I. . ." Nothing urgent, but then he'd have to explain why he didn't allow Strife to get up and follow Fair down the hallway. “The computers. I need to finalize the list of Thirds who will be assigned to Urban Development.”

“Okay,” says Strife. Then he waits.

“It’s a finicky program,” says Sephiroth, wondering if he’s suffering some kind of stroke.

“Should I call IT?” asks Strife, in obvious confusion.

“No,” says Sephiroth, quickly. The last thing he needs is a flustered engineer dropping things around him. “I will handle it myself. You’re free until our training session later today.”

Strife stares up at him, face neutral. It makes Sephiroth feel like someone’s sliced his legs off at the thighs. He keeps his own gaze blank, though. Strife is just a boy. He’s nothing compared to battalion after battalion of suicidal Wutains.

“Okay,” Strife says, eventually. “I’ll see you then, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depressed as fuck about Halloween this year


	29. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud gets a blast from the past. Or maybe, the future?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! Really happy that I managed to get this one out in time.

"Is there a reason you're saddling me with all the weaker Thirds?" Genesis demands at the next morning meeting.

Strife glances up from his notebook, catches Sephiroth’s gaze, and quickly looks down. Beside him, Angeal rubs his forehead. At the other end of the table, Lazard staples his fingers together and waits.

"Your next mission is construction in the slums," says Sephiroth, calmly. "I'm sending men to the Northern Crater to battle the Planet's most vicious monsters."

"Leadership skills and common sense are crucial for mission success, even for non-combat missions," says Genesis.

"I thought you were leading the mission," says Sephiroth.

Genesis opens his mouth before he realizes that he can't argue with that without downplaying his own skills. For once, Sephiroth has bested him in a battle of wits. Which happens often enough, if Genesis wants to be honest, so long as they aren't talking about anything besides work or swordsmanship.

"This'll be a good opportunity to instill discipline among the rowdier, newer Thirds," says Angeal. "If nothing else, we could see which ones have the right temperament for promotion."

"Yes, I agree," says Lazard. "We have a new round of SOLDIER exams, and quite a few cadets are expected to pass this time. We could use a few more seconds."

"All the more reason to keep a few of the brighter ones around," says Genesis. "At the very least, I'll be needing a Second to take over the bulk of the management at the construction site."

"Won't you be handling that personally?" Sephiroth asks, trying for a curious tone.

"You ask as though I don't have other matters to attend to," says Genesis. "I assure you that I very much do."

"You could just tell the Thirds to listen to Reeve's engineers," says Strife. "It won't be like a military mission with battles or anything."

"Reeve?" asks Lazard, before Sephiroth can decide if he should reprimand Strife for speaking out of turn.

"Yeah?" says Strife. Then he blushes bright pink. "Oh, I mean Director Tuesti."

"In any case, Strife," says Genesis, "I'm quite aware of the difference between a battlefield and a construction site."

"Have you ever even been at a construction site?" asks Strife.

"That's enough, Cadet," says Sephiroth. "When we need your input, we'll ask for it."

Strife looks down at his notebook, but not before narrowing his eyes and shooting Sephiroth a sideways glance. He does have a point, disrespect aside, but they are still an army and Genesis is still his superior officer.

"Perhaps our dutiful laison feels that he has won access to the figurative throne," says Genesis.

"What?" says Strife, looking at Genesis with a confused frown.

"Let's get back to the matter at hand," says Angeal.

Small mercies. Sephiroth is not ready to field a potential argument between Strife and Genesis. One in the middle of a work meeting, no less.

"I think keeping a Second around for backup at the slums isn't a terrible idea,” continues Angeal. “Wutai has spies lurking about, and the ecoterrorists get bolder every day."

"I concur," says Lazard. "One Second ought to do, and I trust that the Thirds can in fact follow instructions from Tuesti's engineers."

"A Second of my choosing," says Genesis.

"Fine," says Sephiroth. He plans to send Fair to the Northern Crater, and since Genesis does not like him, it's unlikely that he'll object. "Do we have other pressing concerns today?"

"As matter of fact, I do want to discuss Strife's upcoming exam," says Lazard.

"He will pass," says Sephiroth.

Strife shoots him a look, but says nothing.

“But can he have mako treatments considering his. . . condition?” asks Angeal.

“Why would he need them?” shrugs Sephiroth. “It seems that he’s enhanced due to this alleged sickness.”

“That sounds like a decision for the scientists and technicians,” says Genesis, waving a dismissive hand.

“Don’t I get a say?” says Strife.

“Well, have you decided to quit SOLDIER?” asks Lazard, mildly.

Strife’s nostrils flare, then he looks down at his notebook. “No, but. . .” He swallows. “Commander Hewley is right. I probably can’t have any more mako shots.”

“Nevertheless, you do possess mako enhancements,” says Lazard. “And the condition might become more intense as time progresses; result in further increases in your strength and skill. This will not raise eyebrows if you are assumed to be a SOLDIER.”

“Everything I do will raise eyebrows now that I’m S.O.N. famous,” says Strife.

“How blessed you must feel,” says Genesis.

“I. . .” Once again, Strife trails off.

Sephiroth doubts that he’s doing so out of deference. That’s not his current concern, however. He looks directly at Lazard. “You’ve discussed with people outside SOLDIER.”

“The going-ons of SOLDIER are important for every department in ShinRa,” says Lazard, straightening his glasses smoothly. “It’s in all our best interests for Strife to integrate smoothly into SOLDIER ranks.”

“So, in layman’s terms, you’re gonna pass Strife and officially start him as a Third Class,” says Genesis.

“Why waste time with a test, then?” asks Strife.

“A great deal of people will find your ascension unfair enough as it is,” says Genesis. “It behooves us all to maintain the illusion of fairness, even if no one will truly believe it.”

“Great,” says Strife.

Though he sees the logic of Lazard’s reasoning, Sephiroth wishes they’d discussed this without Strife present. He could have used the illusion of fairness as well. As it is, he will spend the rest of his days doubting his own merit, assuming that he doesn’t belong in the SOLDIER ranks. It doesn’t help that he will always be the smallest among them. Skill and cleverness can take a warrior far, but nothing can overcome the advantage of size. A cat is a ferocious hunter, but it will always fall short when compared to a tiger.

“Cheer up, kid,” says Angeal. “You’d have passed on your own anyway.”

Strife shrugs.

“I haven’t said I approve of this,” says Sephiroth.

“Well, don’t you?” demands Genesis.

Strife doesn’t even look up.

“He’ll have to go on the mission roster if he’s a Third,” says Sephiroth. “Who’s going to manage all the phone calls and scheduling.”

“That’s what the secretaries are for,” says Angeal.

True, but Sephiroth doesn’t want a different secretary. Not that he has a good excuse for that, but if he plays his cards right, he might not need one.

“I suppose I could be like Tseng,” says Strife, with a shrug.

“Hm?” says Genesis.

“Does anyone know what Tseng’s role is?” Strife leans back on his chair and sighs. “Besides walk around looking all nefarious, not letting anyone talk to President ShinRa?”

“So we promote you on paper but don’t add you to the mission roster,” says Sephiroth. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Not interested in the glory of the battlefield, are you?” asks Genesis.

“Not really,” mumbles Cloud.

"What are you interested in, then?" asks Genesis.

Strife keeps staring at his hands.

"That's hardly relevant," says Sephiroth, too relieved that Strife seems perfectly happy to continue things as they are, even if he's promoted. "I approve of making Strife a Third after this next round of exams, so long as he's not included in the mission roster. Now, let us return to next month's allocation of duties."

* * *

It's so strange that after a lifetime - maybe _two_ lifetimes - of wanting to be a true SOLDIER, Cloud doesn't care that the rank will be thrown his way as a formality. 

"Congratulations?" Kunsel tells him, after Cloud explains what will happen in a week. 

Cloud shrugs, hugs his knees to his chest and sinks into his couch, vaguely relieved that Kunsel sounds a little confused but not angry about it. Kunsel wants to study for the damned test that Friday rather than hang out as they often do. Cloud should have gone along with it, but the idea of cramming for that stupid exam when he knows his won't even be graded is too depressing a thought. Kunsel is discreet. It's safe to tell him what's going on. 

"Why do you wanna be a SOLDIER?" asks Cloud.

"I wanna be able to defend myself," says Kunsel, shrugging. "Money, fame, hot chicks. The usual."

"Most SOLDIERs aren't famous," says Cloud.

"You will be," says Kunsel. 

"Yeah," says Cloud. Then he sighs and burrows into himself more.

"Dude, are you gonna start crying or something?"

Cloud looks up."I'm not _that_ bad."

"You look like you're the heroine in a soap opera and you just found out the hero is engaged to your best friend," says Kunsel.

"Bite me," says Cloud. 

Kunsel raises his hands in mock-surrender. "You mind if I study here?" he asks, smirking. "I'm not just gonna automatically pass." 

"Sure," says Cloud, standing up and stretching. "I need to go out anyway, so it'll be quiet here."

"Out with Zack?" asks Kunsel.

"No, out by myself," says Cloud. "Zack has to work today."

"Try not to break hearts out on your own," says Kunsel.

Cloud rolls his eyes on the way out, but he doesn't let himself procrastinate via pointless bantering. He's been avoiding the slums for too long. Avoiding Aerith. 

Midgar's always so crowded, especially on the trains. Cloud never did get used to it, not even after it was called Edge and the pampered upper classes had fled to their villas. He blinks at the thought, barely phased at the oddity. The odd memories don't disorient him anymore. Neither do the odd looks he gets. It’s just people trying to figure out if they recognize him. Cloud looks down, prepared to glare at anyone who tries to approach. He had been famous before. It’s not that bad. Most don’t argue when he says that they’re confusing him with someone else, that he’s not Cloud Strife.

A pair of girls giggle to each other as they stare at him, not even trying to be discreet. Cloud tries to borrow into himself, then just stands up and starts heading to the other cart, squeezing between the standing passengers. It’s his stupid hair; he needs to buy a beanie to hide it. There are always street vendors by the train stops; it shouldn’t be too hard to find one. 

The station is less crowded down by the slums, but the quality of the hostility changes. People aren’t in a hurry, but everyone looks around with hooded eyes, careful of predators coming down from the plates. Cloud makes sure not to bump into anyone, stays mindful of his pockets. He is an outsider here, more so than ever now that people might recognize him from frivolous S.O.N. bullshit. Still, his money is as good as anyone’s, so he scans the area for anyone selling cheap hats. Maybe he should shave his stupid blond spikes and be done with it. He would, but he has a boyfriend now, who likes to cuddle up with him and thread his fingers through his hair. For Zack’s sake, he should try not to look like shit.

A simple black wool beanie does wonders; makes him look like an anonymous blond boy with androgynous features. Except for the glow of his eyes, which isn’t so obvious from far away. Cloud pays the lady at the street corner, grateful that merchants in the slums don’t bother for inane small talk. She can see his eyes though, so maybe she’s not talking to him because she wants him gone, away from the rusted mobile truck she’s using to hawk her wares. Either way, Cloud’s grateful for the reprieve. With one last look at the small mirror she keeps by her counter, he turns around.

And runs into someone that makes him think he has lost his place in time. 

“Watch where you’re going,” snaps the tall man, in a deep voice that - paradoxically - makes the knot in Cloud’s stomach loosen.

Cloud looks up. . . and up, feeling his mouth drop open as though it’s someone else’s body. Like he’s floating right above the unfolding scene.

“Are you okay?” asks the deep voice, reluctantly concerned.

“Barret?” says Cloud, because he just can’t help himself sometimes. 

“How the fuck do you know my name, ShinRa brat?” demands the man, crowding Cloud’s space.

Which is very easy. Barret is larger than Cloud remembers, his brown eyes narrowed and jaw tight. 

“I think I’m confusing you with someone,” says Cloud, without stepping back. 

Barret wouldn’t hurt him anyway, not while he’s looking like a confused kid.

“You know my name,” says Barret, wrapping his hand around Cloud’s arm.

Cloud looks down at his long fingers; Barret’s hand wraps around Cloud’s entire arm with ease, like a bear grabbing a twig. Has Barret always been so large? 

Barrett's hand tightens, making Cloud wince. His eyes flit over to Barret’s gun arm, and he frowns because the specs aren’t what they should be. For a disorienting moment, he considers suggesting some upgrades, or asking for pointers about an engine for a motorcycle he does not yet own. Barret had been his friend once. Will be his friend one day, assuming he doesn’t fuck up their first meeting.

“Did you just get here?” asks Cloud, still not pulling away.

“Stop holding up the line!” yells another customer, reminding Cloud of where he is. 

When he is and who he still works for. Barret’s already an ecoterrorist, probably well on his way to leading his own Avalanche cell. He would not take well to some brat from above the plate recognizing him. 

Barret starts dragging them off, to fuck knows where. Cloud wrenches his arm away, smirking when Barret shoots him a surprised look. _I know,_ thinks Cloud, smirking. _Stronger than I look._

But not that strong, not without causing a scene. 

Barret grabs his arm again, and it’s not so easy to get away now that he has an inkling of Cloud’s strength. People around them are minding their own business - they either know Barret, or know that Cloud’s not one of them and so will not intervene, even though Barret is at least three times Cloud’s size. 

“We’re gonna have a talk, you little shit,” hisses Barret.

Sure, Cloud can do that. Barret’s probably not going to hurt him too much, unless his mako memories are _complete_ bullshit. If they are, Cloud will just have to defend himself. He grunts when Barret all but slams him against a concrete wall from an abandoned building. That’s not too bad. He didn’t even hit his head. Probably, Barret doesn’t know his own strength.

“Now, let’s try this again,” says Barret, leaning down to crowd Cloud against the wall. “How do you know my name?”

“. . . I don’t,” says Cloud, glaring.

“Motherfucker, you _said_ my name.” Barret pushes the barrel of his gun arm against the wall just beside Cloud’s head. “Where did you hear it?”

“I have mako poisoning,” says Cloud, feeling his lip wobble. Fine, that might trigger Barret’s paternal instincts. “I don’t know what I said.”

Barret hesitates, leans back a little, giving Cloud an opening that he has to force himself to ignore. The point is to look like a confused kid.

“How would mako poisoning let you guess my name?” asks Barret.

Cloud shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. If he can just look harmless enough, Barret will get to his business and Cloud will leave him be. For now. He senses Barret bracing himself, possibly to crowd him in a last ditch attempt to intimidate him, then a sharp _bang_ resonates through the atmosphere, startling him. Startling Cloud as well, and everyone else in the vicinity.

A pained scream follows, with desperate pleas for help.

Barret shoots Cloud one last suspicious look, then rushes towards the noise.

The smart thing to do then would be to run in the opposite direction. Cloud knows multiple ways to get to the abandoned church; he had spent some years living in the ruins of Midgar, after all. But no one had ever accused Cloud of being _smart_. He follows Barret, just in case there’s anything he can do.

It takes a few convoluted turns, away from the station, to find the issue. A wall from one of the abandoned, half-finished buildings leading to Sector 6 had crumbled. The scream had come from a guy at the edge who had managed to dodge most of the falling concrete, but had been unlucky enough to get one of his legs trapped under it. Judging by the way he was writhing, he wasn’t strong enough to pull himself out. A few kids hovered around, confused about what to do. 

“Get to the station and see if you can find grown men willing to help,” Barret says to them, walking forward with careful steps.

These things happen often in the slums - one wrong step and the ground crumbles, sinking people down into ShinRa’s maze of underground labs. Or it’s just a ruse from junkies, and trying to help will land a person dead, injured, and without money or loot. Cloud knows, without looking, that most people have already gone back to work, or whatever it is they do. 

“Help me!” cries the man trapped under the debris.

“I’m coming,” grunts Barret, bending down to try and lift the concrete. He’s big, but it’s still a very large piece of slab of stone.

Cloud waits, hoping that he won’t have to intervene. A few moments later, after the trapped guy has screamed himself hoarse, it’s obvious that he will have to. Barret can’t lift the boulder, not with only one arm that can grip things. Maybe not even with both. He steps forward, just as carefully as Barret had.

“I can help,” he says.

Barret shoots him a look, but he doesn’t protest. With a short huff, Cloud steps forward and bends down to slip his hands besides Barret’s. The boulder isn’t as heavy as it looks, or the mako poisoning is farther along than Cloud realizes. Barret’s eyes widen as they lift, in obvious shock. 

“Move!” Barret spits at the guy on the floor, who slithers out with a groan. 

“On three,” Barret tells Cloud. “Let’s bring it down slow.”

Just to test something, Cloud doesn’t let go of the boulder when Barret does. He feels it get heavier, but not by that much. Barret’s gaze is on him while he holds the thing, incredulous. Gently, Cloud lets the boulder down (though he suspects he could hold it for hours) and stands up, looking around for the guy.

“Thanks!” the guy shouts, as he runs away as fast as he can while limping. 

Cloud starts moving.

“Well, you’re fucking welcome!” Barret yells at the kid, a second before turning to Cloud. “You, wait up.”

“I don’t have to,” says Cloud, flexing his fingers. He’s unarmed, with no materia, and Barret is huge. But Cloud knows he could fight Barret. He could fight anyone.

“If you’ve got mako poisoning, I’ll eat this gun,” says Barret.

Cloud looks up at him. Then looks back to the ground.

“Who are you?”

 _”I’m a ghost,”_ Cloud says in the Old Tongue, just to check. 

“How the fuck did one of the Old Folk end up in SOLDIER?” demands Barret. In the common tongue.

“I’m not. . .” Cloud stops talking. He is, isn’t he? He’s a SOLDIER in all the ways that matter. In a few days, he’ll be a SOLDIER _officially_. A laugh bubbles out of him. He wants to lie about being in SOLDIER, but in the opposite way he had in the past. Future. Isn’t that the funniest thing? “I’m gonna go now.”

“Wait!” says Barret, grabbing Cloud’s arm. “It doesn’t seem right you know my name, and I don’t know yours.”

That doesn’t sit well with Cloud, either. His ma wouldn’t like it, but. . . “Cloud.” Now Barret’s gonna look for it on S.O.N. and see all the dumbass _Access Midgar_ articles. Cloud sighs. “Strife.”

“That sounds familiar,” says Barret.

Cloud sighs again. Deeper. 

“Sure sounds like something the Old Folk would call their kid,” says Barret. “It has a nice, poetic ring to it.”

“Why are you even in Midgar, anyway?” asks Cloud. “It’s too early for you to be here.” Maybe too early for the prosthesis too, but that one he’s not sure about. He barely knows his own timeline, much less Barret’s.

“Soldier Boy, are you sure you’re where you wanna be?” asks Barret.

“Nobody’s where they want to be in Midgar,” says Cloud, waving a hand. “Go home, Barret.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” says Barret, stepping in front of him. 

Cloud glares up at him, wishing - for the umpteenth time in his life - that he looked intimidating, rather than cute as a button. He’s seen pictures of himself trying to glare. It’s tragic. 

“I’m assuming a fine piece of ShinRa equipment like yourself has a PHS,” says Barret, reaching into his pocket. “Something tells me we’re gonna want to keep in touch.”

“Fine,” says Cloud, pulling out his own PHS. “You got S.O.N.?”

Barret does. “That’s where I recognize you from. Heh.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Cloud. It’s not like he hasn’t put up with shit about his obnoxious fans before. At least this time, it’s not even about how people think he’s some kind of Messiah they also want to fuck. “If someone comes to ask about me, tell them you don’t know shit.”

“That’s gonna be easy enough, since it’s true,” says Barret. 

The S.O.N. app informs Cloud that he has a new follower. Grunting at the absurd number of notifications he has on his official account, Cloud follows him back. “Prepare for the most annoying fifteen minutes of fame ever.”

“It should help the business,” says Barret.

Cloud doesn’t ask about that, to avoid another headache. It’s obvious that things aren’t exactly as he remembers them. 

"I'll give you my number too," adds Cloud, after a second of hesitation. Might as well follow this thing through. "But only call or message at this number if it's a life or death situation."

"Okay," says Barret. 

It throws Cloud off - the Barret he remembers had not warmed to him for quite a while. But circumstances are different in this reality. Barret doesn't seem as angry or bitter - his resentment of ShinRa sounds generic. And Cloud is one of the Old Folk. That isn't significant to most people, but it might be to Barret. This Barret. 

“Interesting to meet you, Cloud Strife,” says Barret, as he puts his PHS away. 

His voice draws Cloud back to the present. He puts his own PHS in his pocket. 

“Yeah,” says Cloud, nodding before he starts walking around his old, future friend. “If everything goes right, we’ll never see each other again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a huge thing for work for the first two weeks of November, so next weekend might be the first time since I started posting when I skip a weekend. I hope things will ease up after that though.


	30. Parasite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud and Aerith have a long overdue talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm barely back. Work is still killing me, but I did squeeze in time for writing this week.

People who hear voices that no one else can hear are extremely patient. Aerith is, anyway. There are days that the Planet is so loud that she can’t get anything done - days when she can’t get out of bed, can’t even tell where she is in the world, what’s the sky and what’s the ground. Those days are rare, and growing rarer, but they still happen. She has learned to be flexible with her goals, to keep them unhinged from regular people’s twenty-four-hour cycles. She’d spend all her life berating herself for failures, otherwise. 

So it doesn’t bother her that Cloud seems to have disappeared. Into ShinRa drama, if S.O.N. is anything to go by. A part of Aerith felt a flash of sadness, and maybe even jealousy, when she first saw that selfie of Cloud and Zack, but that’s just the echo of a life she hasn’t led. She has never met Zack Fair, certainly not the one that visited her church, worried sick for Cloud. They are unknowns to her, regardless of what the Planet’s voices are telling her. The entire world is unknown to her, and now she might have to figure out a second one.

As Aerith usually does when she’s stressed, she goes to the abandoned church and tends to the flowers. The Planet is happy with her decision, so she gets a little break. Later, she’ll go to one of the vendors with a nice record she will enjoy, for once. 

The Planet is quiet enough that she hears footsteps entering the church sooner than she normally would have. “You finally came,” she says, when the footsteps stop behind her. She knows it’s Cloud because The Planet is not warning her of danger. It wants her to talk to Cloud.

“Sorry it took me so long,” he says. 

“It’s all right,” says Aerith, as she prunes a deep blue periwinkle. “You were becoming yourself.”

“I don’t think I did a good job,” says Cloud.

Aerith picks the brightest periwinkle within reach and stands up and turns around. For a moment, she's disoriented. The Cloud standing in front of her - in jeans and a simple black leather jacket, spiky blond hair half-hidden under a black beanie hat - blurs with an older man carrying a huge sword dressed in a rather fetching wolf motif. 

“You’ll get there in the end,” she says, handing him the flower. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”

“They don’t need to stand out more than they already do,” says Cloud, pouting. But he takes the periwinkle and slips it behind his ear. 

“I bet Zack will like it,” says Aerith.

“He doesn’t notice flowers much,” says Cloud, more to himself than anything. “I think he used to. The other one I remember.”

“I think so too,” says Aerith.

They stand quietly for a few moments, mourning a man who is gone, dead in a different world. One they never technically met. He had been patient with Aerith once, despite her flights of fancy. If not for him, she wouldn’t have gotten the idea to sell her flowers. In two worlds, now. Aerith has started taking her best flowers above the plates because she remembered, though in a convoluted fashion, Zack Fair building her a flower cart. 

“That’s enough reminiscing, don’t you think?” Aerith says, determined not to get lost in a daydream. She grabs Cloud’s arm and drags them to the front bench. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“I don’t know what to do,” says Cloud, as he sits down.

“That makes two of us,” says Aerith.

“I don’t even know what’s happening,” he complains, rubbing his eyes. “Am I a Cetra now?”

“No,” says Aerith, waving a hand. “You’re just bilingual.”

“That’s a relief,” says Cloud. “No offense, but it sounds like it blows.”

“I’ve never been anything else,” shrugs Aerith.

Cloud winces. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s more like . . . being alone sucks.”

“I’m not alone,” says Aerith. She feels many things, but never ever has she felt alone. Elmyra tethers her to the present, and - for better or for worse - the voice of The Planet never leaves her. 

“In any case,” says Cloud, gazing at her with obvious expectation, “you told me I should come alone, the last time.”

Aerith had, but that doesn’t mean she knows what to do now that she has him in front of her. The Planet would not get any clearer than it already had about the strange situation they’re in (Aerith no longer thinks that The Planet _can_ be coherent, at least not in a way a single human could understand), but she had been hoping that circumstances would align in their favor. 

“Have you remembered more?” asks Aerith.

“Not really,” says Cloud. “I don’t really remember things. . . It’s more like I remember things that I know.” He frowns. Rubs his face with his hands. “That doesn’t make sense. No wonder Zack doesn’t believe me.”

“It makes sense,” says Aerith, patting his shoulder. “You know what your face looks like, but you remember it every time someone brings it up.”

Cloud looks up to the church and sighs. “Yeah, kinda like that.”

They sit beside each other in silence, as comfortably as they can, considering everything going on. A gentle breeze passes through the church’s broken windows, making the periwinkles sway. Aerith hugs herself as she imagines what Cloud Strife - this Cloud Strife - would be doing right now, if he hadn’t been drawn into The Planet’s never-ending struggle against The Calamity.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” says Cloud.

“The Planet thinks you can defeat The Calamity,” whispers Aerith. 

The Planet has been wrong before, though it doesn’t see it that way. What are the lives of tiny humans in the sea of the universe? If Cloud can destroy The Calamity, then good. If not, then The Planet moves on. It has no choice.

“Am I strong enough to beat Sephiroth?” asks Cloud. 

“Oh, _he’s_ not The Calamity, silly.”

Beside her, Cloud stops breathing.

“He’s a weapon,” says Aerith.

A breath leaves Cloud in a rush, like someone’s punched him in the solar plexus. He stares at her with wide eyes.

“Not like a WEAPON weapon,” Aerith says, shaking her head vigorously. “He’s just a very broken man with a strong will.”

“So basically, I’m fixated on him too much,” says Cloud, nodding to himself. “A little ironic, considering, but it’s not unreasonable.”

Aerith hums, satisfied. She doesn’t know much, just that Cloud knows a lot more than he realizes. All he needs is someone to just listen to him and believe him, and he’ll come up with a plan all on his own. 

“Jenova is The Calamity,” says Cloud, once again talking to himself rather than Aerith. He leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, clearly trying to concentrate. “She’s. . . a parasite. Like literally an alien parasite.”

Aerith snorts. What would The Planet say if they could hear their ancient scourge described with such impatient annoyance? If only they could perceive the voice of a tiny, inconsequential human.

“There are pieces of that thing all over Gaia,” says Cloud. “The more you burn or destroy, the more that appear.” 

“That’s how infections work, yeah,” says Aerith.

“The Planet doesn’t need a warrior, then. It needs. . .” Cloud shudders and makes a gagging noise, “a doctor.”

“The horror,” giggles Aerith.

Cloud gets up and starts pacing around, muttering to himself in the Old Tongue. That's unexpected. The Cloud she remembers had been from Nibelheim, a mountain village that had more or less formed around one of ShinRa’s remote mako reactors, full of people with no ties to each other or The Planet.

“ _Are you from Nibelheim?_ ” she asks him, hoping that her accent isn’t too terrible.

_”You’re one of us?”_ says Cloud. 

“No,” says Aerith. “Elmyra is. The woman who adopted me. She stayed in Midgar to have a rest stop for Old Folk on their _Suche_. I picked up the language over the years.”

“Oh,” says Cloud. Then he goes back to his pacing. “I am from Nibelheim, kind of. My mom’s one of the Old Folk from the mountains, but she got exiled. Or left. She doesn’t talk much about it. Whatever, it’s not important right now.” 

“No?”

“I’m trying to figure out if I know any doctors we can count on,” says Cloud. “Or will know. Hojo and Hollander are trash, and I can’t remember anyone else.”

So much for Aerith’s flash daydream about coaxing the Old Folk to coordinate against ShinRa. They’re the only group left in The Planet that hasn’t been either crushed by them, or grown utterly reliant on ShinRa mako for survival. 

“Other than that, there’s Sephiroth’s mom,” says Cloud, with a disgusted noise, “in some fucking underwater cave feeling sorry for herself. Excuse the language.”

“I am from the slums, you know.” Aerith’s heard worse. On the way to Church earlier in the morning, in fact. 

“I guess she’s a good start,” says Cloud. “Though how the hell would I even get down there?”

The Planet doesn’t know what Cloud’s talking about, so neither does Aerith. 

“And even if I get down there,” Cloud continues, “how am I gonna convince her to help? I guess Vincent-- _Oh._ ”

“You remembered something you know,” Aerith says when Cloud turns to her, eyes comically wide. “Didn’t you?”

“Vincent’s down in the basement in Nibelheim’s ShinRa mansion,” says Cloud. 

“Okay.” Aerith waits, but it seems Cloud’s still in the middle of his internal monologue. “Who’s Vincent?”

“He’s. . .” Cloud makes a frustrated noise and waves a hand. “I need to get him out of the basement.”

“He can help us?”

“I don’t know,” admits Cloud. “But he’s my friend. Or will be. And he’s self-flagellating in a decrepit mansion. Someone needs to snap him out of it.”

It sounds like there’s an interesting story behind that, but Aerith doesn’t want more convoluted drama clouding her mind. The Planet wants her focused. “And The Calamity?”

“Still thinking,” says Cloud, eyes scanning around the church. “It’s gonna take a lot of thinking, I’m afraid. I’ll talk to Zack again.”

“And he’ll believe you?” People tended to believe their lovers more, or so claim the cheap romance novels that Aerith reads in her spare time.

“I doubt it,” says Cloud, rubbing at his cheek. “But it can’t hurt. He’ll be happy if I stop talking about killing Sephiroth, at least." He sighs, then looks at her. "I should go.”

“Wait,” says Aerith, standing as he takes a first step out of the church, “the Turks are watching me. They’ll know you came here.”

“I figured,” says Cloud. “But they don’t have any mics here, or they never did before. Maybe Tseng’s a little religious.”

“I doubt that,” says Aerith, walking closer to him and grabbing his shoulder. “They’ll know you came here, twice, and they’ll want to know why.”

“So?” says Cloud, but he lets Aerith drag him out. “Don’t tell them anything. It’s not like they’ll guess what I’m thinking. And if they do, they’ll just think I’m crazy from the mako poisoning.”

“Oh, I can think of a better cover than that,” Aerith says in a sing-song voice.

“Like what?” 

“Maybe that you and I are _dating_ ,” says Aerith.

Cloud pulls his arm out of her grip. “I’m with Zack now.”

“All the more reason for us to be discreet,” says Aerith, stepping closer to him, fluttering her eyelashes. 

“Well, it’d probably work,” admits Cloud, all but rolling his eyes. 

Aerith laughs. “Oh, just imagine the S.O.N. posts,” she says, grabbing Cloud’s arm. “SOLDIER Cadet Cloud Strife, in a sordid love triangle!”

“I’m not gonna post about my affair on S.O.N.,” says Cloud, dragging his feet as Aerith leads him out of the church. 

Again, Aerith laughs. She has helped him focus, despite being a girl from the slums with the unfortunate ability to hear The Planet’s screams. Maybe people wouldn’t see it like that (a part of her doesn’t), but she knows Cloud will. No matter what else happens, at least she’ll have a friend. It’s been so very long since she had a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, updates are going to be slower and shorter going forward, at least until my work calms down. Which is not looking like it well any time soon.
> 
> At least I still have a job, so I can't really complain.


	31. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud and Zack go on another date, which goes marginally better. Kind of.

"Holy shit. I can't believe it!" yells Kunsel that Friday night, as Cloud waits for Zack to pick him up for a date. He jumps up from the couch to pace around nervously.

They'd taken the test that day, one that had been comically easy. Cloud can’t believe that it once kept him from the SOLDIER ranks. Kunsel, on the other hand, has whined about it since coming over to Cloud's apartment, lamenting that he'll never make the cut. That he'll toil the rest of his days away as a nameless grunt guarding mako reactors. Cloud has been lamenting himself - that he'll endure days of Kunsel's hyperbolic drama. Even if the test hadn’t been easy, Cloud remembers Zack telling him Kunsel’s coded messages as they trekked through Gaia, running from ShinRa’s troops.

Not that there’s any point in explaining that, so Cloud immediately checks a notification on his work PHS. He tends to ignore it after hours - he assigned Lazard a personalized ringtone long ago, and Sephiroth usually contacts him on his personal PHS - but Kunsel intends to keep going on about the unfairness of him getting an automatic pass on the test.

It turns out the grading is already done. There’s a list of the new Thirds in his email, with a short, non-urgent note from Sephiroth that they will need to update next month's mission roster accordingly. Cloud stares at the list quietly, Kunsel's name on it taunting him. His own name does not faze him, as his inclusion is just a formality. But Kunsel, he’d been marked for the mako injections. And they would be painful. Cloud's had been. Warning Kunsel would be pointless, but Cloud shows him the list just so he stops angsting about his career.

"I figured it'd be weeks before they gave us the results," says Kunsel, brown eyes wide.

Cloud shrugs, though he'd assumed as much, too. He shouldn't have. The only thing ShinRa does in a timely manner is funnel people into its fucked-up experiments.

"You're not fucking with me, are you?" Kunsel stares at him, shoulders tense. "Is this a prank?"

"That'd be a nasty trick," says Cloud.

"Yeah," says Kunsel, unable to meet Cloud's eyes. "Sorry, I just never thought I'd make it."

"It's fine," shrugs Cloud. "Just don't tell anyone I showed you the list, okay? I probably wasn't supposed to."

"Of course," says Kunsel, sitting down on the couch besides Cloud. "Honestly, I didn't catch a lot of names. I was kinda freaked out."

"You can still back out, you know," says Cloud, knowing it's pointless. He just can't stop himself from trying.

"I'm not sure that's true," says Kunsel.

There are no rumors of ShinRa outright forcing anyone into the SOLDIER program, but there are also zero rumors of anyone ever refusing the opportunity.

"It's not like I want to fight ShinRa about this," says Kunsel. "I've been trying to get into SOLDIER for two freaking years."

Cloud doesn't say anything to that. Mere months ago, he would have sold an arm for the chance, too. He can't quite remember _why_ , though. In his strange new memories, he'd been desperate for recognition - from Nibelheim, Tifa, even a Sephiroth he'd never spoken to - but here? He would have been more or less content with a lifetime of travelling around the Planet, doing odd jobs, following the stars to wherever they might have led him. Wouldn't he? Why had he come to ShinRa in the first place?

They spend the next hour chatting. Mostly, Kunsel asks Cloud questions about SOLDIER that he can't answer - "I've been answering phones, remember?" - as they endlessly scroll through dumb memes on S.O.N. For some reason, there's a barrage of jokes about how Rufus is an insipid socialite with more looks than brains, which Cloud enjoys even though he knows it isn't true. How he knows it isn't true. . . Cloud doesn't feel like confusing himself right before a date, so he stops thinking about it.

Zack arrives a few minutes early, wearing the leather jacket that he got from one of the Old Folk that venture into the cities to sell some really cool shit. The threading tells a few verses of an old poem, not that Zack knows about it. Cloud might tell him, if he ever asks.

“You guys seem tense,” Zack says, after pecking Cloud on the lips.

“I passed the SOLDIER Entrance Exam,” says Kunsel, staring off into the distance with wide eyes.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” asks Zack.

“Yeah, just thinking about the mako shots,” says Kunsel. Then he gestures at Cloud. “He doesn’t seem excited.”

“I’m not gonna get the shots,” Cloud reminds him.

“Lucky you,” mumbles Kunsel.

He’s had the shots already. He had more than just shots once, had been submerged in mako until his brain turned to mush. Kunsel wouldn’t get it though, and trying to explain it would just stress Zack out.

“The shots are really not that bad,” says Zack. “I mean. . . they hurt. A lot. And if you accept painkillers, you start hallucinating.”

Kunsel makes a deflated sound.

“Good news is, it’s over in a week, tops,” says Zack. He pauses for a moment, biting his lip. “Or two. Or more. Some of the Thirds have more long-term side effects, but everyone eventually gets used to it.”

“You’ll get over it,” says Cloud, tugging at Zack’s arm. It’s not that he doesn’t feel sympathy for Kunsel, but that he knows his sympathy won’t mean anything in the end. There will be no talking him out of the mako shots. “You can stay here tonight,” he tells Kunsel. “I’ll stay over at Zack’s.”

“Or you could come with us,” says Zack. “You know, to celebrate passing the test.”

“Nah,” says Kunsel, waving a hand. “I don’t wanna be a third wheel for you lovebirds.”

Cloud appreciates the sentiment, so he doesn’t argue more and drags Zack out of the apartment. He hasn’t said anything about the talk with Aerith yet, and since they’ve only hung out once, S.O.N. hasn’t caught wind of their supposed “affair”. All Cloud has gotten to is calling his ma and telling her about the situation with Vincent. Advising caution as much as possible, not that Claudia has ever boasted caution about anything. He remembers danger down in the mansion’s basement, and his ma is an unenhanced woman with no allies to take to battle. Claudia promised to investigate the matter, regardless. To outright get Vincent out, nevermind the danger. Not much that Cloud can do beyond that, so all that’s left is trying to enlist Zack for his confusing mission. Again.

Cloud still doesn’t know how to convince Zack that his memories are real, so he expects another frustrated argument. The least he owes Zack is an actual carefree date out in Midgar doing what normal people do.

“So these two jockeys are in some kind of drama about a girlfriend,” Zack is telling him on the train, leaning down to talk directly into his ear. The carts are always packed on Friday evening, but parking is all but non-existent, even for a bike. Hence, braving the trains. Cloud put on a beanie. It kinda helped hide his identity when he last visited the slums. From S.O.N., if not from the Turks.

“Jort and Ballard,” Cloud answers. “They’re both riding black chocobos; the only two jockeys in the entire league.” He doesn’t care at all about the alleged love triangle. “Jort’s chocobo is large and muscular, but Ballard’s been winning races he shouldn’t have with his twiggy little bird.”

“ _Access Midgar_ ’s last article says that Jort’s jealous of the girl, not Ballard.” So Zack cares more about the soap opera.

Cloud slaps his shoulder and smirks. If anyone should be taking _Access Midgar’s_ “journalism” with a grain of salt, it’s Zack. It won’t be long until they start talking about “inside sources” swearing that he and Sephiroth are in a bitter bloody rivalry. Or fucking. Or both.

They arrive at Midgar Central Stadium early, but nowhere near early enough to get a good spot at the massive line for the chocobo tracks. Cloud’s relieved he covered his hair, because if someone recognizes him, he will honestly have a meltdown. He has been waiting for this race since before the whole clusterfuck with the mako poisoning started, before he and Zack had gotten together, before he even knew who would be racing. It’s the biggest chocobo race of the year, outside the ones going on in the Golden Saucer itself. Midgar partnered with them officially, so the best pro-jockeys in the sport will be participating. When the Golden Saucer tune reaches him, he starts tapping his foot with the rhythm and beams up at Zack.

“Just hearing this makes me wanna gamble,” says Zack, smiling down at him and pulling him into a tighter hug.

“There’ll be plenty of gambling in there,” says Cloud.

The line moves slowly, but Cloud doesn’t mind. As long as they make it in before the racing starts, he can wait. Especially if Zack is draped around him, scrolling through his PHS and showing him the occasional silly meme. For the first time in a long time, Cloud is. . . relaxed. Talking to Aerith had not given him concrete answers, but it had given him permission to just stop panicking about Sephiroth. Maybe he would have stopped panicking about Sephiroth regardless and meeting Aerith had just given him a semi-rational excuse. Whatever the reason, Cloud’s determined to take advantage of the momentary psychological reprieve.

After about an hour of waiting, Cloud feels someone’s gaze on them. He tries not to pay attention, takes out his own PHS for some mindless scrolling, and it mostly works, until the flash of someone’s camera interrupts him. Cloud goes ramrod straight, tense as a wire, his hands curling into fists as a snort that feels directed at them hits him. He looks down at his PHS, checks his official S.O.N. account, and within minutes, there’s a picture of him and Zack in the line, waiting to be let into the stadium. His good mood all but evaporates. Though the picture itself is harmless enough, it’s a brutal reminder that things are not like they were when Cloud first learned of this race, months and months ago.

It doesn’t take long for Zack to lean down to whisper to him. “Something wrong?”

Cloud shrugs and shows him the S.O.N. photo.

“Well.” Zack rolls his eyes. “I could find whoever took that.”

“Then what? Make a scene and attract even more attention to ourselves?” Their evening would be ruined anyway, and whoever they fought with would just get more shit to post about. They might even get interviews with _Access Midgar_ and its few competing blogs.

The line shuffles forward. Cloud follows, dejected.

“I’ve got an idea,” says Zack, moving as though he wants to leave their spot in the line.

“I’m going to see this race live,” says Cloud, without budging.

“I know, I know,” says Zack, kissing Cloud’s forehead. “But we don’t have to stay in line.”

“So we just go and intimidate the poor bastard at the entrance?” The idea is sour, something Rhapsodos would do to flaunt his supposed influence. Cloud just wants to wait his turn and watch the race in peace.

“I’m not a diva, despite my talent and good looks,” says Zack, tilting Cloud’s chin to look into his eyes.

Cloud stands on the tips of toes, ready to kiss him even if it’ll make a disgustingly cute picture for some dipshit to go viral on S.O.N. Zack’s just trying to make him feel better.

“Come on,” says Zack, without kissing him. “I know another way in.”

Cameras snap as they leave the line. Some of it must be the general flashiness of anything the Golden Saucer is involved with, but some of it will be people taking pictures of Cloud and Zack absconding. Cloud despises being even slightly famous. He can’t figure out why Rhapsodos thrives on it so much.

Zack directs them to a back alley, away from the crowd gathering at the stadium. Midgar’s street lights watch them, even as the people look away politely. Cloud tries to relax, but the panic is snapping at his heels once again. Heidegger - and worse people - have access to ShinRa’s street surveillance. At any moment, riot troopers flanked with monsters fitted with shock collars and barely functioning robots could ambush them and drag them back to ShinRa’s dungeons. ShinRa is doing that; Cloud would bet his beating heart on it. He and Zack had not been Hojo’s first lab rats. Hell, _Sephiroth_ had not been Hojo’s first lab rat. There’s an abandoned lab below the slums around Sector 5. Or Sector 7. Cloud doesn’t remember the exact location. It’s probably not abandoned yet.

Two blocks away from the stadium, Zack leads him to the fire escape stairs of a residential high rise. It’s illegal to climb Midgar’s rooftops, but it’s a law as seriously enforced as jaywalking. Cloud’s gaze still flits to the street lamps as he follows Zack. Midgar’s perpetual alarms flare in the background, but it’s not for him, this time. There aren’t platoons coming for him. The reactors still stand, spewing their poison out into the atmosphere. There aren’t crowds of confused civilians running around, bleeding and begging for help. They’re going to see a chocobo race. There are teenagers on the rooftops, playing with their PHSes, unconcerned with two young men jumping from building to building.

The noise intensity increases as they get closer to the stadium, but that’s only because there’s a crowd gathering there. It’s not sirens, barking, whirring machines, and screams, but the Golden Saucer’s catchy tune and drunken laughter. Cloud starts humming along with the music, trying to push aside the confused memories assaulting him. Sephiroth had been there, smirking, telling him to run. To survive. It doesn’t fit with anything else he knows of Sephiroth - either of them - so maybe Cloud really is as crazy as Zack thinks.

“Made it!” says Zack, glancing at his PHS, probably to check the time.

Cloud looks down at the crowd of chocobo racing fans. The line now stretches for at least two full blocks, accentuated by the people who’ve bought glow sticks to wave around during the race. His mako-enhanced eyes let him catch garish makeup that some people are wearing. PHS cameras keep going off as people take excited selfies with their friends. Cloud checks the time on his own PHS and deduces that the people in the back probably won’t make it in on time.

“Damn it,” he mutters.

“No worries,” says Zack, gesturing at the concrete wall separating the stadium parking lot from the main entrance. Fuck, they’re really high up on the skyline. “If we can climb down there, we’re in the parking lot, and then, we just show anyone who asks our tickets and say we drove here.”

That would work, if they don’t break their necks on the way down.

“Or we could just turn around and go home,” says Zack. “It’s up to you, Cloud.”

So Cloud had not managed to hide his little panic attack, then. He looks over at Zack, takes in the obvious signs of stress in his posture. An apology dies on his lips. Zack doesn’t want an apology; he just wants Cloud to be normal.

“I can make the jump,” he says, shrugging. And if he doesn’t, the fall won’t kill him.

“ _I_ can make the jump,” says Zack, chuckling. He throws an arm around Cloud’s shoulders, then gestures at his back. “Climb on.”

Cloud really could handle the acrobatics, but there’s no harm in letting Zack take charge of the adventure. It might calm him down. He hops on Zack’s back before Zack grabs a hold of one of the pipes at the side of the building and drops. It connects down to another residential high-rise, probably for the workers that handle the stadium, so it takes them closer. Cloud clings to Zack and lets him move, unconcerned with the possibility that Zack might slip. They’d infiltrated labs while on the run, battled ShinRa’s toughest battalions with nothing but an old Buster Sword and a handful of materia. Zack had, while Cloud wandered around in the background, catatonic.

The noise intensifies as they get closer to the parking ramps. Anyone could look up and snap a picture of them sneaking in, but Cloud doesn’t care about what they post on S.O.N. That, he can block and forget about, no problem. It’s when people are close enough to try and _talk_ to him - or worse - that he starts freaking out. By the time they’ve reached the parking lot, Cloud’s panic has ebbed away, to be replaced by his genuine excitement for the race.

“You still got your ticket?” asks Zack, once they’re walking past parked vehicles.

“Yeah,” says Cloud, feeling for his wallet. It would be just his luck to have lost it on Midgar’s rooftops. Thankfully not. He takes out his PHS when Zack presses an elevator button.

“I can already smell the fried chicken,” says Zack, beaming. “Bless my mako-enhanced stomach for being able to digest that radioactive, awesome shit.”

Cloud hums, scrolling through his alerts. Most of it is spam, but at least none of it is about him. Whatever made it to S.O.N. about him and Zack, at least it hasn’t gone so viral that it’s showing up on his anonymous account.

“Feeling better?” asks Zack, when the elevator starts moving down.

“Yeah,” says Cloud, gripping his PHS a little harder. “Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“What happened out there?” asks Zack. “Besides the picture on S.O.N.?”

“You know ShinRa has underground labs?” asks Cloud. “Below the slums?”

Zack steps closer to him. Pulls him into a loose hug. “I’ve heard the rumors.”

“They’re not rumors,” says Cloud. After a second of hesitation, he lays his head on Zack’s chest. “I don’t know if there’s someone down there I should help. I can’t remember.”

Zack doesn’t say anything.

“You ever heard of Vincent Valentine?” asks Cloud.

“No,” says Zack.

“That’s fine,” says Cloud. “Ma’s handling it.”

“Awesome.”

“I decided it’s not a good idea to go after Sephiroth,” says Cloud, mostly because he wants Zack to go back to joking and smiling, like he was the beginning of the night.

“Really?” says Zack, absently. Like he doesn’t believe Cloud. Why would he? It doesn’t make sense to believe a crazy person.

The elevator door slides open before Cloud can reassure him. The Golden Saucer’s tune is faint in the background, beckoning. People are hurrying by, carrying junk food and dragging their children along. Cloud decides to put aside his worries once again, wraps his hand around Zack’s, and pulls him out of the elevator. He’s hungry too, and while he doesn’t like junk food as much as Zack, some greasy fried chicken would be ideal for the occasion.

“I put aside money to bet,” he tells Zack, smiling.

He can practically see Zack deciding to ignore his mini-meltdown, to plaster a smile on his face and come up with something lighthearted to say. “I’m gonna gamble on the nachos first.”

That works, then. Zack doesn’t want to hear anymore nonsense about underground labs or Sephiroth’s psychosis. Fair enough. What’s Cloud expecting, anyway? That Zack will believe him, make sense of his confusing ramblings, and save him? Save the whole damn Planet? That’s supposed to be Cloud’s job. He squares his shoulders and starts scanning the stands for something fun to do. There. A simple zombie shooting game. He tugs Zack’s sleeve and heads there.

“You two are the firsts to challenge the undead horde,” says the woman at the stand, in the most hilarious flat tone. One completely incongruent to the elaborate, horror movie makeup that she’s sporting: a fake sash on her forehead that makes it look like her cranium is fractured - and visible. “Offer the proper token, and we’ll grant you the holy gun that can blast the infernal- Wait, no SOLDIERs allowed.”

“Oh, come on,” says Zack, gesturing at the prizes behind the lady. “That’s a Sephiroth plushie!”

“Five hundred gil,” says the lady.

“You’re joking,” says Zack.

“No,” says the woman.

“I wanna play,” says Cloud, since she’s not paying him any mind and his eyes don’t stand out quite as much as Zack’s. Maybe because it’s not unexpected for blonds to have blue eyes.

Or the lady doesn’t bother to entertain the notion that someone so short and petite could be an enhanced super soldier. She beams at Cloud, or in his general direction, without bothering to make eye contact. Beside him, Zack chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s a little mean, in a way that the Zack from the future (other world?) wouldn’t have been. _He_ would have slapped Cloud’s shoulder and admonished him for bending the spirit of the rule. Cloud doesn’t focus on that. He’s there to have fun. Grinning, he takes the toy gun from the lady.

Even without enhanced senses, the game is fairly simple. Cloud can’t help but think of Vincent as he aims the toy gun, blasting a third zombie right between the eyes with the mock infrared light. Shit. He’s extremely bad at compartmentalizing, isn’t he? No wonder he’d gone batshit under stress. The heads pop up faster and faster when it’s obvious that Cloud’s an expert marksman, but it doesn’t make a difference. A crowd gathers around the booth, drawn by the machine’s cheers and the speeding music.

Just when Cloud’s starting to get cocky, giant virtual zombies appear. A rotting virtual fist comes at him, almost taking him out, but he shoots at the limb and then blasts the thing’s face. The game’s music gets louder, the flashing more incoherent, out of sync with the enemies in an attempt to distract him, but it still doesn’t make much of a difference. Cloud’s senses are too enhanced. He takes the game’s highest score in no time, thinks about maxing it out, but that might mess up the rest of the evening for the stand. Nobody would gamble for the top score if the game has already been thoroughly dominated, and resetting the thing last-minute might not be possible. There’s no need to screw over the lady like that just because she had assumed that he’s just a SOLDIER’s cute twink. It’s not even that far from the truth.

Cloud lets the next giant zombie hit him. There’s a screeching howl from the game to indicate that he has “died”, then an explosion of virtual fireworks announcing a new high score. The crowd cheers as Cloud hands the lady the toy gun with a sheepish smirk.

 _”Aren’t you a sneaky little bastard,”_ says the lady, in the Old Tongue.

Cloud shrugs. _“Not my fault you got tricked by a small frame,”_ he says, looking at the prizes. _ _“I get whatever I want, yeah?”__

“Dude, I want that Sephiroth plushie,” says Zack, pointing at it like an excited kid at a chocolate factory. “That’s going in the locker room so the new Thirds shit their pants thinking he’ll be offended.”

“There’s a special prize for top scores,” says the lady, opening a drawer.

The special prize turns out to be an ornamental dagger with a single materia slot. Zack is unimpressed, since he has access to ShinRa’s armory, but Cloud recognizes the etchings on the handle from one of Claudia’s old daggers. The edge of the metal gleams under the flashing lights.

 _ _“Is that mythril?”__ he asks the lady.

 _ _“Is it?”__ shrugs the woman.

“I’ll take the dagger,” Cloud tells Zack, without looking away from the woman’s face. She nods and hands it to him.

“Really?” whines Zack, as Cloud pockets the dagger.

“And the toy for your silly side piece,” says the woman, reaching for the plushie and handing it to Zack disdainfully.

Zack glares, but he takes the plushie and steers Cloud to the side. The lady greets the next challenger in line with the same canned line, and with as much enthusiasm.

“No respect from the Old Folk ever, I swear,” says Zack.

Cloud laughs, actually smiles up at Zack’s PHS for a selfie with the stupid plushie. The Old Folk’s concept of respect isn’t easy to explain to an outsider. Zack seems back in the spirit of the celebration, though, so it’s not the time to broach philosophy.

“I bet ShinRa mass produces these things,” says Zack, as they walk towards the race tracks. “They probably got Sephiroth’s look trademarked or some shit.”

Yeah, like Sephiroth is a fucking cartoon. A thought that makes Cloud oddly defensive, considering Zack doesn’t mean anything by it. He keeps it to himself and instead reminds Zack that they still haven’t gotten any junk food.

The trek to their seats is uneventful. Mercifully so. No one recognizes them, or they’re polite enough not to say anything if they do. Zack finishes his nachos before the race starts and gets up for more food, shrugging when Cloud warns that he might miss the beginning of the race.

“Okay, then get me more water,” Cloud tells him, pulling out his PHS.

“Will do, sir,” Zack says, with a salute.

S.O.N. remains boring and inane, as always. Zack posts the selfie at some point, bragging about how his hot boyfriend won him first prize at the zombie stand. With emojis and everything. It’s cute, but there’s no need for everyone to start fighting about it in the comments section. Why people get addicted to this nonsense, Cloud will never understand. It can’t even distract him from opening his work email, which, for some reason, he linked to his personal PHS a while back. That probably means he gave an opening to whichever Turk is spying on him, but Cloud can’t bring himself to give up the convenience.

Lazard has already sent out the mass email congratulating the new Thirds and inviting people to the official graduation ceremony all the way at the grand ballroom atop ShinRa Tower. That will probably be a parade of lunatic, rich sycophants. Cloud spares a moment daydreaming about skipping the whole thing, then rolls his eyes and closes the invitation. He’ll worry about it later, if he can muster the energy.

His most recent work email is from Sephiroth. Another scheduling report, this time for the upcoming SOLDIER mission roster, sent about half an hour ago, at around the time Cloud had been taking a detour via Midgar’s rooftops. Does Sephiroth ever stop working? Well, Cloud shouldn’t judge, since he’s opening the email in the middle of a date. Reeve’s - Director Tuesti’s, he really needs to stop feeling like a man on ShinRa’s board of directors is his friend - slum project has been officially greenlit, with Rhapsodos at the helm and Roche as the official captain of all the assigned Thirds. Out of all the glory-hungry older Thirds, Roche would probably make the list of a fuss about that.

Cloud looks for Kunsel’s name and is briefly relieved when he doesn’t find it anywhere. Then he grunts at himself. Kunsel won’t be added to the mission roster until he gets the mako shots. Until the lab coats clear him for duty. Best-case scenario, it will take two weeks.

The last mission listed is the expedition to the Northern Crater. Cloud has not considered it much; what does he care about Hojo wanting to fuck around up there? Maybe he’d get eaten by a Behemoth. Wouldn’t that be nice. Although, it would suck for the SOLDIERs escorting his team up there. Cloud opens that tab, feeling nothing but idle curiosity. Out the corner of his eye, he spots Zack returning with enough popcorn to feed a family of five and looks up. Zack’s going to gloat about Roche getting stuck with construction duty.

“Good news,” says Cloud, as Zack sits down. “Guess who’s going down to the slums?”

“Please say Luxiere,” says Zack.

“Him too,” says Cloud. “Roche’s team captain for that.”

“Hah,” says Zack. “Eat me, Edmund.”

Cloud chuckles, though privately, he does feel bad for Roche. He’s not a bad guy at all, and it’s a shame that he and Zack don’t seem to get along. It’s not even because of Roche’s flirting, which has grown so obvious that Cloud can’t rationalize it as anything else. At one point, Roche got him flowers. Cloud had refused them, with an annoyed admonishment that he was with Zack and Roche should respect that. Zack’s not a jealous guy, though. He and Roche just rub each other the wrong way.

“What am I on?” asks Zack. “More of the usual?”

Cloud realizes he didn’t see Zack’s name on the roster, not even on stand-by monster hunting. He’d been on that service for months. There’s only one mission he had not checked.

“Cloud?”

“Shit,” mumbles Cloud, looking at his PHS.

The tab for the Northern Crater expedition has finished loading. Cloud’s belly sinks as he reads the words under Team Leader: _Second Class Zack Fair_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost did not get this one through, but then I remembered is Thanksgiving weekend and I'll spend it quarantining since the USA is still in the grips of the plague. I'll have plenty of time to edit the next part.


	32. Center of Gaia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sephiroth's still around and he thinks he's in a sitcom hijinks novel rather than in sci fi horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story, I thought I had updated this morning lol. I got called into work so I would have completely forgotten this if I hadn't logged into AO3 tonight and noticed I had no comments. 
> 
> Even then, I thought everyone was just busy and almost didn't check.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Sephiroth looks forward to the usual morning meeting with Lazard and his fellow Firsts. And Strife, though that’s also mundane now. He smiles to himself, remembering how affronted he’d been the first few days after Strife had joined the meetings. He’d considered the boy an interloper from the Turks, or worse. Now, he waits for everyone’s arrival with something close to excitement.

Not that there’s anything to be excited about. The Thirds have already been added to the mission rosters for the second half of the month, albeit on the non-combat missions, since they cannot be certain that they’ll all have acclimated to the mako treatments within two weeks. All in all, there’s no reason to be. . . agitated.

It’s not until Sephiroth spots Strife coming out of the elevator wearing an official SOLDIER uniform that he realizes why he’s excited. Strife is officially in SOLDIER, essentially property of ShinRa Electric Company. That sounds horrific - Sephiroth isn’t so far gone that he doesn’t understand that most people would recoil at the idea of literally _belonging_ to any organization - but Sephiroth can’t help but smile at the sight anyway. Even though Strife looks a little uncomfortable, stares down at his feet when he spots Sephiroth looking at him, pulling at the helm of his shirt as though it itches.

“Congratulations,” says Sephiroth, as Strife approaches.

“Thanks,” mumbles Strife, without looking directly at him.

They walk into the conference room without another word. It’s not unusual for them to be the first to arrive at the morning conference, as Lazard often meets with other department heads or with SOLDIERs stationed in remote areas of the Planet, and Angeal and Genesis sometimes get caught up in romantic shenanigans. In fact, it’s common enough that he and Strife have more or less grown used to making small talk. Or what Sephiroth assumes is small talk, about chocobos or sword maintenance and, on some occasions, about the weather.

Not this time, though. Strife won’t even look at him. He sits at his usual spot, fiddling with the wire of his notebook, jaw tight. He’d practically carved the day’s date at the heading of today’s blank page, obviously upset about something. Asking him outright is unlikely to be helpful, though. If he’s anything like Genesis, Strife might actually be offended if Sephiroth blankly asks what the problem is. No, this is a perfect time for distracting small talk.

Sephiroth has no urgent assignments for him. His work remains exemplary, so he can’t even pretend to have any questions about scheduling. They handle all matters regarding Strife’s training as they arise in the gym. Chocobo racing, then?

“How was the race?” asks Sephiroth, abruptly.

At least it sounds abrupt to his own ears.

“Jort won,” says Strife, shrugging.

“I know,” says Sephiroth. Then, he suppresses a wince. “I watched the race on television. I’m sorry your favorite jockey didn’t win.”

“Ballard’s not my favorite,” says Strife.

“Oh.” Sephiroth remembers Strife saying that it would be exciting if Ballard won because no one expected that he would, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that Strife actually wanted him to win.

“Why Zack?” Strifes asks, out of the blue.

“What?” It actually takes Sephiroth a second to remember Fair’s first name.

“Why did you pick Zack for the Northern Crater mission?” demands Strife.

“Why not him?” asks Sephiroth, baffled.

Before Strife can answer that very simple question, the conference room doors slide open and Angeal and Genesis stride in. Strife shoots him one last glare, but he doesn’t bring up Fair again. For a second, Sephiroth wants to challenge him about it, but he doesn’t want to start an argument in front of the other Firsts. Although he would certainly win. Who does Strife think he is, to question Sephiroth’s decisions about the mission roster? Maybe Genesis is right. Maybe Strife _is_ letting his S.O.N. notoriety go to his head.

Angeal tries to congratulate Strife, but he takes it with about as much enthusiasm as he had taken Sephiroth’s congratulations.

“I see the promotion hasn’t inspired you to be more graceful,” says Genesis.

“Why would it?” says Strife. “It’s not like I earned it.”

Well, Sephiroth had expected this. Strife will never believe that he belongs in SOLDIER. All that they can hope is that, one day, the distinction won’t matter to him.

Lazard arrives shortly after that, and they get to business. It’s the same meeting as usual - quicker than most, in fact - but Sephiroth’s mood is sour the entire time.

“Strife,” says Lazard, “you will be removed from your duties for a two week period so we can simulate that you’ve had mako shots as any other SOLDIERs.”

“Think of it as a vacation,” says Angeal.

“It’s far from that,” says Genesis. “You’re meant to be too ill to work, so do not go gallivanting about Midgar.”

“So I’m supposed to just stay holed up in my apartment?” asks Strife, with a grunt.

“Yes,” says Lazard, straightening his glasses mildly. “A trusted Turk will be delivering you food in a timely manner.”

“Just let me get two weeks’ worth of groceries and I’ll be fine on my own,” says Strife.

“It’s best if someone checks on you,” insists Lazard.

“Check on what?” Strife’s tone might as well be a declaration of war. “I’ll be in my apartment.”

“Strife,” says Sephiroth. He waits until the boy’s mako-bright eyes turn on him. “You will be at your apartment for two weeks, and a Turk will deliver your meals. You don’t have to eat the food if you don’t want it, but a Turk will deliver your meals anyway. Those are your orders.”

Strife stares at him, nostrils flaring. Like a wild animal trying to decide if it should attack. “Fine,” he says, looking back down at his notebook.

Discipline stops Sephiroth from letting out a relieved breath. Whether he likes it or not, Strife is ShinRa property now. The first and most important lesson to teach him is to pick his battles wisely. Better to have a Turk checking on him a few times a day than to be locked up in a lab, under Hollander’s care. Or worse. Hojo’s.

Thankfully, the rest of the meeting passes without incident. Genesis is eager to meet Roche and the rest of the team assigned to him, so he doesn’t say or do anything to exacerbate the faint headache Sephiroth feels coming. He had complained about headaches to Hojo once, and the man had been incensed by the possibility that his perfect creation might be defective. Sephiroth had suffered through a week’s work of obsessive head scans that had only made them worse and later found out about headaches triggered by emotional stress on his own. By consulting S.O.N. He’d known better than to complain about them ever again.

When the meeting is done, Sephiroth and Strife head over to the elevator. They stand in awkward silence. Or Sephiroth assumes it’s awkward, though it’s not like Strife has ever been the chatting type before. Neither is he; most of the time, he’s content to dwell on his own thoughts.

Nevertheless, Sephiroth is grateful for the _ding_ announcing that the elevator has arrived, for the _whoosh_ as the door slides open. He doesn’t know if he’s glad or apprehensive when Strife enters the elevator, though of course Strife does. Why else would he have waited for it? Sephiroth walks after him, noting - for no apparent reason - that Strife will show his back to him. That’s relatively new. There was a time when Strife had been hypervigilant around him, though Sephiroth had not thought of it as such at the time.

“What floor?” asks Strife.

 _Out to the cosmos, away from this accursed tower_.

Sephiroth frowns at himself. It’s the most absurd thought he’s ever had. A Genesis-like thought. His fretting over Strife’s mood just a second prior had been downright _rational_ in comparison.

“Sir?”

“Back to my office,” says Sephiroth, relieved that he’s trained his voice to sound neutral even in the middle of painful experimentation.

Strife hits the buttons, still not looking at him.

Sephiroth gives in to the temptation and rubs his head.

“You okay?” asks Strife.

Sephiroth must look worse than he feels. “I’m fine.”

Suddenly, he wants to take a step closer to Strife, crowd him against the elevator and reach for his thin wrist. The image of Strife’s face, furious and terrified, framed by ash and flames, floods his memory. He stumbles back.

“General?” asks Strife.

 _Don’t be afraid,_ he thinks. _Cloud can take much more damage than you realize._

Sephiroth’s back hits the cold steel of the elevator, mercifully distracting him from the stink of mako that suddenly permeates the air. Like he’s in the middle of a mako shower. No, worse than that. Like he’s in the core of the planet, under so much mako that he’s a part of it. Cloud stands before him, older and determined, holding a gleaming buster sword adorned with pulsating materia. He should be scared, but he’s god on the planet, greater than everything on the little speck of dust they call Gaia. Sephiroth holds his face in his hands.

He rubs his eyes, tries to take a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. He opens his eyes and feels his shoulders tense as he watches Strife raise a hand, as though intending to touch him.

The elevator doors slide open.

Sephiroth straightens up automatically, like a puppet master is pulling his strings. The stink of raw mako vanishes. Strife’s hand drops to his side a second later, and he takes a step backwards, as far away from Sephiroth as he can in the small elevator. He’s back at ShinRa, vaguely bored, suffering from a mundane stress headache, fretting about what to say to his secretary. His greatest concern is the threat of neverending ennui, more so than the labs. They are not strong enough to force him into a tank anymore.

“Uh?” A slight woman stands behind the elevator door, PHS in hand and dark eyes wide, sliding from Sephiroth to Strife.

“Take the next one,” says Strife, pushing on the Door Close button aggressively. He sighs when the doors slide shut. “That’ll be a rumor later.”

“Sorry,” says Sephiroth. Though his breathing is normal, his heart thunders in his chest.

“Whatever,” says Strife. “The only good thing about everyone talking nonsense is that everything sounds like a bullshit rumor.”

“If everything is a lie, then nothing is true,” says Sephiroth.

“That sounds better in the Old Tongue,” says Strife.

Sephiroth nods. He’d first heard the old saying from President ShinRa at a board meeting a few weeks before he’d been sent to Wutai.

_How can we convince the public that this is a just deployment of our troops? They are meant to defend against monsters._

_Simple. Tell them that the Wutainese are monsters._

He shakes his head, fighting an impulse to rub his face again. If he lets himself spiral, he might end up in the middle of another episode. It’s not something to consider in a ShinRa elevator, how the last time something like this happened, he’d almost killed one of his only friends. That’s the kind of thing to ponder on in the relative safety of his apartment, and only in the areas that he searches for bugs on a regular basis.

After what feels like a lifetime, the elevator stops at their floor. Strife walks away with some mumbled declaration that he’ll be in his own office, his back to Sephiroth. The people around them don’t even look up from their screens, used as they are to the site of both of them. Sephiroth keeps his head held high and his shoulders straight. It’s good that Strife knows not to show weakness, even if it’s not obvious where he learned it.

His PHS rumbles the moment Sephiroth reaches his office. Expecting a mundane message from either Angeal or Genesis, he unlocks the screen.

It’s a message from Strife, via his anonymous S.O.N. account.

MountainDude17 _Today at 08:37_  
Tell no one what you saw

What? Does Strife somehow know that Sephiroth “saw” something? How?

 **User6487312** _Today at 08:37_  
What do you mean?

 **MountainDude17** _Today at 08:38_  
In the elevator  
We can talk about it later  
Outside work

 **User6487312** _Today at 08:38_  
We never meet outside work

 **MountainDude17** _Today at 08:38_  
We need to  
ASAP  
Tonight

 **User6487312** _Today at 08:38_  
Is that a good idea?

 **MountainDude17** _Today at 08:38_  
ffs  
What’s stopping you?

The casual disrespect should be a slap in the face, but Sephiroth’s barely surprised. These are their personal accounts, after all, where Strife has been commanding all interactions, even if he does not know it. Perhaps he does.

 **User6487312** _Today at 08:38_  
Ok

 **MountainDude17** _Today at 08:39_  
Good  
The Golden Saucer is still in town  
Do something about your hair and let’s meet near there  
If anyone asks, we’re going out together

 **User6487312** _Today at 08:39_  
That will start rumors

 **MountainDude17** _Today at 08:40_  
There are no words to describe how little I care about that  
Fuck it, it might help  
Tonight at 21:00

The next message is coordinates to a residential building near the stadium, where the Golden Saucer is hosting their Midgar chocobo races. Sephiroth almost sends a dumb message to make sure that’s correct before he reasons that Strife wants to meet on the rooftop. The building is right next to the stadium, so surveillance from the neighboring condos would be challenging. It’s tall enough that few of Midgar’s intrepid teenagers would dare risk climbing it. Since it’s close to the suburbs of Sector 8, it’s unlikely that they’ll have to worry about criminals from the slums.

 **User6487312** _Today at 08:40_  
Okay

The rest of the work day goes by in a haze. Strife sends a message in the middle of the day to excuse himself from their usual training session because he has to attend an orientation meeting with the rest of the new Thirds. Sephiroth is deeply relieved that Angeal is handling that with Lazard. He can take the paperwork without issue - ShinRa’s secretarial staff has long since stopped trying to engage him in casual conversation, much less challenge him on anything. The military, though?

They would engage him, if only to ask his approval or suggestions regarding deployment orders. Even more dangerous, Angeal would try to engage him in conversation. He would notice instantly that Sephiroth is. . . whatever he is. On the verge of going on some incomprehensible rampage?

After making it home without incident, Sephiroth checks his journal. There’s nothing there but evidence of how empty his life is. He adds the episode in the elevator, as descriptively as his mechanical vocabulary allows, then locks the little book away. It’s the first thing out of the ordinary he notes since he started the dumb exercise.

He has an hour before his rendezvous with Strife.

_Do something about your hair._

Sephiroth considers hacking it off. It would make a superb short-term disguise. Keyword being _short-term_. ShinRa’s PR people would throw a fit immediately, first thing tomorrow morning. While Sephiroth isn’t against pissing them off, the whole point is to not attract their attention. He stares at his reflection in his bathroom mirror, sparing only a second to mourn his odd features.

The bangs are always the biggest problem.

It’s easy enough to twist them into small braids, pulled tight and woven into a bun at the top of his head. Genesis leaves plenty of clips lying around for Sephiroth to collect, in case he ever needs to force the more stubborn locks into place. Within ten minutes, his reflection looks alien, a world away from the man in ShinRa’s posters despite the ashen nature of his coloring. The weight atop his head is a little uncomfortable, but that’s for the best. He could use every last scrap of sensation to ground him to reality.

Clothes are the next step. Once, Sephiroth would have gone for black, assuming that most people would be attracted to brighter tones around him. It’s not a color scheme favored by the average citizen, though, so a black ensemble would act as a beacon. The average man Sephiroth’s age would wear grey, miss-sized sweatpants. He has a pair saved for such a rare occasion. As long as he cinches them securely by the waist, the ill-fitting nature of the garment would not be overly detrimental in a fight. Add a simple black t-shirt and an oversized red sweater with a grey beanie hat, and Sephiroth might pass for any bored young man wandering Midgar’s streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrelated, I finished Persona 5 all the way through. First accomplishment of the plague holiday season!


	33. Sephiroth's Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A clandestine meeting near the stadium goes south.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The closer I get to the end, the more editing and writing this old needs. Lots of the last part is still locked up in my head so far.

Cloud had almost had a heart attack when he felt a vivid vision-memory coming at him while standing right next to Sephiroth. In a ten-by-six heavy steel cage, no less. He’d been back in the center of the Planet, or in their shared subconscious - his memory had always been confused, barely coherent - that first (or second?) time he’d battled Sephiroth in a one-on-one duel. Sephiroth had been shirtless, holding the Masamune with delusional self-confidence despite being near death. Or already dead. Around them, the stink of raw mako had all but choked the life out of Cloud. 

Through his panic, Cloud had noticed Sephiroth - the one from this world - huching in on himself, curling his hands into fists as his arm spasmed, almost reaching for him. He’d looked downright petrified, an expression so alien on Sephiroth’s face that it’d snapped Cloud out of his own terror. 

It does not escalate, though Cloud spends the entire work day expecting it to. In retrospect, it’s probably for the best that he’s determined to attract as little attention to himself as possible. He might have gotten into some dumb fight otherwise. His fellow new Thirds and former co-cadets are not exactly fond of what they consider his cheating into becoming Sephiroth’s buttboy. They are not shy about their jeering, and more resentful about it than they’d ever been about his friendship with Zack. It occurs to him, when someone slips him a note with a crude, sexual cartoon of him and Sephiroth and a scribbled slur pointed at the stick figure with spiky hair, that guys his age usually behave like dumbasses. No wonder everyone, especially Lazard, had seemed so relieved with Cloud’s relatively standard level of maturity and competence. 

Cloud crumples the paper without fuss as he sits through a lecture about the upcoming mako shots next to Kunsel, in stony silence. To think that, once, he’d tortured himself over what idiotic SOLDIER hopefuls thought of him, that it’d sunk his self-esteem to such pitiful depths that he’d imagined he was someone else altogether. Well, there’s no point in dwelling on that now. No more wasting opportunities while weeping about his shitty luck. Lazard already took over his secretarial duties, so he just needs about eight hours of pretending everything is fine and then. . . who knows? Maybe he can enlist this Sephiroth in his battle against ShinRa. It worries him less than dragging Zack into it. 

Speaking of Zack, there’s the matter of how to explain where the hell he’s going tonight, and with who. They’d been planning to spend as much time together before Zack is shipped off to the Northern Crater, so Zack will likely be waiting at Cloud’s apartment after work. While Cloud would have been okay not mentioning something to Zack, he doesn’t think he has it in him to look his boyfriend straight in the eyes and make up some bullshit lie so he can sneak off for a secret rendezvous with Sephiroth. 

As expected, Zack is sitting on his couch, flipping through TV channels when Cloud gets back from work. His happy smile dims the second his spots Cloud’s tense expression, which makes Cloud tense even more. Is this going to be Zack’s life from now on? Getting disappointed every time he sees Cloud? And who can blame him, considering the clusterfuck that Cloud’s life is. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Zack.

There’s no way to ease into the conversation he needs to have with Zack, so Cloud just comes out and says what needs to be said as he closes the door. “I have to meet Sephiroth in secret tonight.”

“What?” says Zack, mouth hanging open.

“Not to fight with him or anything.” At least Cloud _hopes_ not. “I just have to talk to him in private.”

“What the fuck?” Zack stands up. 

“I just wanted to let you know in case someone sees us and it turns into a thing,” says Cloud, checking the time. He has an hour to get to the rooftop.

“Cloud,” starts Zack.

“I gotta get ready,” says Cloud.

With a sigh, Zack rubs his face. He follows Cloud into the bedroom.

“What happened?” asks Zack, as Cloud pulls off his SOLDIER tank top. An official one, the smallest that ShinRa makes. It doesn’t fit him as well as the costume that Cloud had used. Will use. 

No, will never need. He’s not going to land himself in Hojo’s labs again. 

“Cloud!” 

“It’s not even about me this time,” says Cloud, dropping the tank top and beginning to unbutton his pants. “It was Sephiroth’s idea.” 

That’s only technically a lie. Cloud had been the one to suggest that they meet. . . and _where_ they meet, and also, the time. But Sephiroth wanted to. Cloud only nudged him along, because this Sephiroth can’t be proactive about anything outside a military strategy map. He can use that. Cloud knows, better than anyone on the Planet, what it’s like to be a young man desperate for some guidance. 

Cloud has to bite back a hysterical laugh as he kicks off his pants. 

“So what you’re saying is that _General Sephiroth_ asked to meet you outside of work for a private matter?” asks Zack, from the door.

Sephiroth would say it in those words, wouldn’t he? “Yes,” says Cloud, pulling out a pair of faded cargo pants.

“Okay,” says Zack, with an exhausted sigh. “Cloud. Is it possible that he thinks this is a date?”

“No!” says Cloud, shooting him an annoyed look. “It’s just. . .” If Cloud admits that he had a vision in the elevator, and that Sephiroth did as well, then Zack will not let him leave the apartment. “I don’t know what it is yet. But you know that Se- the General has zero privacy. Whatever he wants to tell me, if he wants any chance to not have it broadcasted directly to Rufus’ ear, we have to meet in secret.”

“To Rufus?” asks Zack, in obvious confusion.

“I mean President ShinRa,” says Cloud, impatiently.

“Cloud-”

“Zack,” he interrupts, with a sharp glare. 

The wounded look on Zack’s face forces him to take a deep, calming breath. He walks forward, lays his hands on Zack’s chest, and looks up at his worried eyes. “Trust me,” he tries, “I just want to talk to him. I think he might need my help.”

“How could you possibly help the strongest man in the world?” asks Zack.

It’s a fair enough question, considering Sephiroth’s reputation. “I don’t know,” admits Cloud. “But he has been. . . kind to me. What’s the harm in talking to him?” 

“I don’t know what exactly happened today,” says Zack, laying his hands over Cloud’s and squeezing, probably trying to comfort him, “but what if the great General thinks this is a booty call?”

“We’re meeting on a rooftop, so that would be interesting.”

“A rooftop?” Zack looks even more confused.

Cloud has to remind himself to be patient, to look at the shitshow from Zack’s point of view. As far as Zack is concerned, his hot boyfriend with an unfortunate mental illness thinks his powerful boss wants to meet with him in private for an unknown personal issue that said powerful boss needs help with. Help that can apparently be provided by a random secretary, and not any of the powerful people who owe him favors. Or his equally strong best friends. After months of putting up with rumors about how said boss is keeping his boyfriend as some kind of office sex pet. All without a peep of jealousy. 

“Look, if it turns out that he thinks we’re hooking up,” says Cloud, “I’ll just tell him we misunderstood each other, and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Like he’d just accept that,” says Zack, snorting.

“I’m pretty sure he would,” says Cloud. “He’d be all stoic about it, like a knight in one of those chivalry epic poems and shit.”

“Yeah, sure,” says Zack, rolling his eyes. “General Sephiroth, all gallant and tragic.”

“Come on,” says Cloud, sensing that he can get back to putting on clothes. He gently pulls his hands free. “Roche’s the one who you should be worried about. He has a cool motorcycle.”

Zack snorts, but he doesn’t argue more, just stands and watches as Cloud puts on nondescript clothes. If he dallies anymore, Cloud’s guilt will overcome his annoyance and he’ll just ask Zack what he wants, cancel on Sephiroth, whatever. He can’t let that happen.

“I’ll message you the moment I’m done talking to him,” he says to Zack, putting on his black beanie. “It shouldn’t take that long.” 

Zack sighs, walking closer to him. “Can I follow you? Since this is going down on a freaking rooftop?”

“N- uh.” It might not be such a bad idea, actually. He hadn’t told Sephiroth that he’d be going alone.

“It’s not like I think you’re gonna cheat on me or anything,” says Zack.

Right. He’s still stuck on that.

“It’s him I don’t trust,” adds Zack.

“Okay, fine,” says Cloud. “But you’ll wait on another roof and. . .” If Sephiroth goes crazy, Zack won’t be able to do much about it. Hell, if Sephiroth does turn into a creep on the rooftop, Zack won’t be able to do much about it, either. Good thing is, that’s not what this is about. 

“I’ll just wait on a nearby rooftop,” says Zack. “I promise.”

“Okay,” nods Cloud, sighing as Zack bends down to kiss his forehead. Relationships are about compromise, or so Tifa had said whenever they fought back in the day. Or in the future. “Hurry up, though. Don’t wanna be late.”

***

Aside from covering his own distinctive hair under a beanie, Strife had not done much to disguise his identity. Sephiroth watches him climb over the eaves of the rooftop silently, with the faint jingle of the Golden Saucer’s famous theme for a soundtrack. After a quick glance towards Sephiroth, he pulls out his PHS and starts tapping at the touch screen. That’s rude, probably, but Sephiroth only waits. 

_It’s more than just rude._ The thought strikes Sephiroth from a strange place, almost from outside himself, in an odd voice that he has never heard but feels familiar nonetheless. Like Angeal and Hojo’s tones merged into a horrific amalgamation; an idea so strange that he has no choice but to ignore it. Strife could be messaging anyone. Turks. S.O.N. gossip hunters. Wutainese spies. ShinRa’s corporate competitors, though there are certainly not many of those left. The only reason that Sephiroth ignores the PHS is that - surely - Strife wouldn’t be so brazen as to contact some shady collaborators _literally_ under Sephiroth’s nose.

Behind Strife, the blinking lights from the stadium stand out, even in Midgar’s usual star ocean. He bets Genesis would have something dramatic to say about having a gambling song in the ambient air as he does something completely out of character, assuming he wouldn’t complain about its lack of class. 

“Excellent disguise,” says Strife as he walks forward, looking Sephiroth up and down. 

Sephiroth feels his heart lift, in a way it hadn’t since he’d been a child and Armstrong praised his footwork. “I can’t say the same for you,” he says, pointedly looking at Strife’s cargo pants and comfortable sneakers, perfect for climbing walls. He has to maintain some degree of pride.

“My hair’s the only thing that draws people’s attention,” says Strife, shrugging.

They stare at each other in silence, way past when most people would’ve felt the need to fill the air with pointless babble about the weather or the latest episode of whatever television drama is keeping everyone occupied. Sephiroth is mostly comfortable with silence, though, so he waits. Strife is the one who knows what’s going on, or so Sephiroth hopes.

“What did you see?” asks Strife, eventually.

Sephiroth shrugs. “What did _you_ see?” He’d had time to consider the situation on the way, and it’s definitely stupid to just assume that Strife has the answer to everything. No matter what his instincts are telling him. He’d almost killed Angeal on instinct.

“We were in the center of the Planet,” says Strife. “Or my subconscious, or maybe your subconscious.”

“What?”

Strife sighs, more like takes a deep breath and lets it out through his mouth, like he’s watched those videos about meditation on S.O.N. “Look,” he says, not sounding very calm at all, “we’re gonna save a lot of time if you just accept that most of this won’t make any sense.”

Sephiroth stares at him.

Strife stares back, his mako-bright eyes narrowed.

“I saw you,” admits Sephiroth. Which is incoherent, he has to admit, but it sounds like Strife is expecting as much. “But you were older. And I _smelled_ mako.”

“Worse than the tanks, right?”

“How do you know what it’s like in a mako tank?” But yes, it had been much worse. He had not been conscious in the tank. The memory had not let him retreat into his own mind.

“Because Hojo kept me in one for _years_ ,” says Strife. 

Sephiroth blinks. While he can easily believe that Hojo might pluck unsuspecting SOLDIER cadets for his twisted experiments, Strife had never gone missing. Certainly not for _years_. 

“He took me out only so he could inject me with cells he scraped from your corpse,” continues Strife.

Well, Hojo certainly would inject monsters with Sephiroth’s cells. He had told Sephiroth as much back when he was a child. It’s not a great leap to imagine him doing it to human volunteers or prisoners. But, and it’s a big _but_ , Sephiroth is not dead.

“You looked older,” says Sephiroth. There is no need to state the obvious about his present living condition. “In my. . . vision.” Not by much, and certainly not much taller, but there’d been something in his gaze. His clothes had been different too, closer to purple than the standard black of SOLDIER uniforms. 

“I was in my mid-twenties by that point,” says Strife. Then he shrugs. “I think. My memories are a little fucked.”

“So you’re saying you’re a time traveller,” says Sephiroth. Genesis would love that.

“I don’t know what I am,” says Strife. “What else?”

Sephiroth just looks at him, at his narrow shoulders and pouting face. Strife looks a lifetime away from the strange warrior in his vision, the one he wanted to reach out for so desperately. 

“What else do you remember?” insists Strife, impatiently. “What did you want to _do_?”

“I wanted to. . .” Sephiroth’s arm spasms, his muscles contracting almost of their own accord. He curls his hand into a fist.

“You wanted to hurt me,” says Strife. 

Sephiroth opens his mouth, but realizes that, yes, that is a pretty succinct summary of what he’d wanted. “But only because I knew you could take it.”

“Well, you were wrong,” says Strife, taking a step closer, eyes furious and nostrils flaring. Though he has to look up to meet Sephiroth’s eyes, it still feels like a giant is about to flatten him. “You _destroyed_ me.”

Sephiroth opens his mouth, ready to apologize, but he holds his ground and looks down at Strife with narrowed eyes. This is insane. He’s never laid a hand on Strife outside a sparring mat. 

The faint hum of a vibrating PHS over the insistent trumpet of the Golden Saucer’s theme cuts through the silence. Sephiroth almost reaches inside his pocket before noticing that it’s Strife’s phone. They’re standing that close together.

It startles Strife into taking a step back and looking away. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t you.” He pulls out the PHS and starts tapping another message. Someone is out there, watching Strife. The Turks? It’s a possibility, but somehow, Sephiroth knows that it’s someone else. It’s Fair.

Sephiroth would be offended, but considering the vision. . . Well. He had wanted to hurt Strife, purely for his entertainment, and Strife seems to remember it, too. It would warrant suspicion, even if they’re not aware of the incident with Angeal.

“Anyway,” says Strife, after putting his PHS back in his pocket, “if I’m being honest, Hojo did most of the damage.” He looks at Sephiroth, for the first time looking uncertain rather than furiously determined.

“Thank you for being understanding,” says Sephiroth. 

Strife chuckles, reaches up to run his hand through his hair, almost dislodging his beanie. “Okay,” says Strife, with a short sigh. “Okay. So, forget what you _wanted_ to do. What do you want to do _now_?”

“I want to understand what’s happening to me.”

“That makes two of us,” says Strife. 

“I can’t have mako poisoning,” says Sephiroth. “Not anymore.”

“That’s not what this is,” dismisses Strife, looking off into the distance.

“Great, then what is it?” 

“It’s Jenova,” says Strife.

“My mother?” asks Sephiroth, absolutely baffled. He had not thought of the name in years.

“She’s speaking to you?” demands Strife, once again stepping closer, staring intently into Sephiroth’s eyes.

“No,” says Sephiroth, giving in to the urge to take a step backwards. “I never met the woman. She gave me to ShinRa - to Hojo - the moment I was born.”

For some incomprehensible reason, Strife relaxes at the vehement denial. “Jenova wasn’t your mother. Hojo lied.”

“Probably,” shrugs Sephiroth. What would stop Hojo from lying to him? Morals? A laughable concept. “I’m guessing you would know because of your time travelling.”

“Yes, exactly,” says Strife. “You asked me about the Cetra once. Why?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” says Sephiroth.

“Humor me.”

“I thought I remembered someone,” says Sephiroth, head suddenly throbbing. He’d been looking for someone, after Tseng mentioned something. Hadn’t he? But who’s there to look for? Only Angeal cares for him at all, and maybe Genesis. By proxy. There’s no one Sephiroth needs to find.

“Do you think you’re a Cetra?” asks Strife.

“Hojo said I was,” says Sephiroth. “That Jenova was. But let me guess. That was a lie, too.”

“Your mother’s name was Lucretia Crescent,” says Strife, watching him closely. “I wish I could say that she loved you or something, but I didn’t have a lot of space in my fucked-up head for your family drama. I think she might have been as batshit as Hojo.”

“What does it matter?” shrugs Sephiroth. Whoever she’d been, she’d given him to ShinRa, or she’s dead. Maybe both. 

“And Hojo’s your father,” says Strife.

“That’s what he said.” Again, Sephiroth doesn’t see the significance of that, and he certainly doesn’t like thinking about it. “It seems likely enough. I’ve seen pictures of him when he was younger.”

“And none of this bothers you at all?” asks Strife. “You don’t want revenge?”

“For what?” demands Sephiroth. He’s supposed to be here for answers about his horrifying lapses of memory, not having his pathetic, sordid past as a madman’s lab rat dragged out into the open. “Strife, do you suppose I’m the first person to have horrible parents? I made peace with that a long time ago.” 

“That’s good,” says Strife, nodding to himself. “I can work with that.”

For a moment, Sephiroth remembers standing before President ShinRa as a young teenager, katana in hand, covered in monster entrails. They’d captured monsters and starved them, then sicced them on Sephiroth to test his skills.

“Use me for what?” asks Sephiroth. There’s no need to be offended. Sephiroth is a weapon, after all. For all he knows, it would be a nice change of pace to serve a different master.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” says Strife, looking away with a grunt. “Let’s back up. If you don’t care if you’re Cetra or not, then why did you ask me about it?”

“I-” Again, Sephiroth feels like someone’s driving an icepick straight into his skull. “I told you; I don’t remember.”

“Shit,” says Strife. “I _forgot_ you asked me. That should’ve fucked me up a lot more than it did.”

“I asked you because. . .” Sephiroth trails off. The pain, he can ignore. But the absolute blankness in his memory _terrifies_ him. It’s exactly like what happened when he stabbed Angeal - a complete blot in his personal timeline, like his memories are recorded in old tapes and someone scratched that bit out. 

“I don’t even remember what I was doing when you asked me,” complains Strife, frowning. 

“It was because of Tseng,” starts Sephiroth. A spike of agony stops him. He almost doubles over.

“He’s nothing,” says Strife. “It was around the first time I visited. . .”

Sephiroth pushes through the pain, forces the name past his lips. “Aerith.”

The name makes Strife rear back, as though struck. Once more, Sephiroth’s sword arm twitches. He tries to draw a breath though rising panic. Something is trying to move his spine against his will. With every involuntary twitch, he remembers a little more. The Reunion. Mother - not his mother, not that it matters. Aerith. Her blood staining virgin water while Strife stares in helpless horror. Aerith in the labs, telling him of the Cetra, of the voice of the Planet warning her about him. She had said she did not believe it because he’d been so _kind_ to her. The only source of comfort in Hojo’s hellish prison. 

“I killed her,” he says, through gritted teeth. “Why?”

Before Strife can answer, the stink of mako poisons the air. Sephiroth braces for another vision, but it does not come. Instead, the air between him and Strife ripples with ozone-laden mako. Sickly yellow light glimmers, forms a humanoid shape with sharp edges, and coalesces into hooved legs, and skeletal torso, and face crosses between a wolf and a human. Something that Sephiroth has never seen or imagined. Its arm spasms, much as Sephiroth feels that his arm _wants_ to, and reshapes itself into a bludgeon.

“Fuck!” Strife yells from behind the thing. “Did you bring a weapon?”

No, aside from a bangle with a few essential materia. Instinctively, he knew they would not be much help against this creature. He had not considered that a clandestine meeting with Strife would hold a threat that might warrant Masamune. 

“I brought a dagger,” yells Strife, waving it around.

That’s not going to help either.

The creature slithers forward, its inhuman joints undulating, reptilian. It can’t seem to decide if it wants to attack Sephiroth or Strife, which is a relief. Sephiroth can’t _move_. The thing could kill him, if it so chose. 

_Let me help you,_ a voice whispers in his mind. It’s calm, seductive, but Sephiroth isn’t stupid. He remembers Angeal’s blood flowing under his boots, staining his hair as he bent down to administer chest compressions. 

_That was a simple lark,_ whispers the voice. _I knew he would live. It’s not his time yet._

While he argues with himself, Strifes fires off an Aero spell that the beast shrugs off with a wobble. Sephiroth lets out a whimpering breath, a sound that has not escaped his lips since childhood.

 _I’m not going to hurt Cloud._

That’s a lie. The thing in his head lives to hurt Strife.

Out the corner of his eye, he sees Fair jumping over the railing, buster sword in hand.

“What the fuck?” shouts Fair. 

“It’s another Whisper,” yells Strife, as the thing turns on him.

“Yeah, I can see!” Fair rushes at it, but the thing flickers into transparency, and the Buster sword passes right through it. Fair curses, letting the momentum drag him forward so he’s between Strife and the monster. 

_That thing will kill Fair._

Not if it’s trying to. . . what is it trying to do? 

_You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be._

Sephiroth closes his eyes - praying for a moment, just a second to get a hold of himself - and before he can open them again, he feels the joints of his swordhand curling on their own. His knee follows, starting the motion to step forward. A sword hilt appears as his grip tightens around air. If he could feel his heart, he knows it would be hammering out desperate beats in his chest. 

“Did I just see the Masamuse appear out of nowhere?” he hears Fair’s voice asking. 

“It’s him,” says Strife, as Sephiroth feels his eyes opening, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “The real Sephiroth.”

No. Sephiroth is trapped in his own head, trying to scream.

“The one you say wants to kill you?” yells Fair, gripping the hilt of the Buster Sword tighter.

An alien force draws from his power and blasts the monster with a Lightning strike. He had not brought Lightning with him, he thinks in baffled desperation, as the monster shireks, louder than the Golden Saucer’s incessant song, stumbling to the floor. It tries to jump back to his feet, making the thing in Sephiroth’s body huff in annoyance. He feels another tug at his magic, then red beams surround the twitching beast’s neck. In an instant, the red lights tighten around it, choking the monster.

“Zack, _now!_ ” yells Strife.

Swiftly, Fair rushes at the monster, Buster Sword held high over his head. He slams it down on, hitting the monster across the torso and head, so hard it cracks the concrete beneath. With one last shrill scream, the beast vanishes. The scent of raw mako sharpens momentarily, then it’s gone. Fair crouches over the spot where the monster had been, gaze sliding towards Sephiroth’s body. 

But the thing controlling Sephiroth does not care about him. It slides Sephiroth’s eyes behind him, uses Sephiroth’s lips to smirks when Strife comes into its field of vision. “Cloud,” says Sephiroth’s voice. “I believe we were in the middle of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna be a rough month with planning plague Christmas/NYE. Not sure when the next update will come sadly.


	34. This World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zack has to reevaluate some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is short, but I'm not feeling too good about the cliffhanger end from last chapter and work could start kicking my ass again at any moment. Not sure if this brings any resolution, but I think it's less of a cliffhanger than last chapter.
> 
> Thanks to Ro again for helping with this.

Zack prides himself on being able to go with the flow, but he’s not sure he can handle watching Sephiroth - _the_ Sephiroth - saunter around Cloud while staring at him like a cat that just found a brave mouse. Even if Sephiroth is dressed like a gamer stoner from the suburbs, with the faint echo of The Golden Saucer in the background. The Masamune is still the Masamune, nevermind the stink of burnt mako still in the air around them. Zack grips the hilt of the Buster Sword, taking a step towards Sephiroth, but Cloud grabs his arm.

“Wait,” says Cloud.

Sure, Zack can do that. He’s not delusional enough to entertain the possibility that he could take on Sephiroth. Mostly, he’d intended to buy Cloud some time to escape and. . . fake his own death, or something.

Sephiroth makes a mocking snort, as though he can hear Zack thinking, and reaches up to remove his beanie hat, dropping it to the floor. “What did he do to my hair?” he asks, shaking his head.

“It’s not _your_ hair,” snaps Cloud.

As Sephiroth threads long fingers through the bundle of small braids ruthlessly keeping his bangs in place, Zack considers that he might have caught whatever “mako poisoning” made Cloud lose his mind. A hairpin spills out of Sephiroth’s hair, releasing one of the shorter bangs and making Sephiroth grunt in annoyance. Maybe the entire world is poisoned. 

The Masamune disappears back to wherever it’d come from. It can come back whenever, but Zack can’t help but relax. His heart slows down a little, though perhaps it shouldn’t. Zack hurls the Buster Sword over his shoulder and lets it fall against the magnet on his back. They’re on a goddamn Midgar rooftop, where ShinRa undoubtedly has surveillance. They’ll throw Zack (and, most importantly, Cloud) under the bus to keep their prized swordsman happy. 

“Did you do this?” asks Cloud.

“My Stormcloud. . .” starts Sephiroth.

 _What the fuck?”_ thinks Zack.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” hisses Cloud.

“This isn’t where I would choose to bring us,” says Sephiroth, with an arm flourish that makes it look like Rhapsodos took over his body. “This world is still shackled by small men’s petty ambitions, still clinging to life despite its utter insignificance.”

“You’re hallucinating, too,” says Zack. By now, it’s more hope than belief.

“Okay, if you didn’t do this,” says Cloud, stepping around to stand in front of Zack, “then will you at least leave me alone?”

“Yeah, I think it’d be great if we all just left each other alone for now,” says Zack.

“Leave you alone?” says Sephiroth, looking straight at Cloud. “As if you wouldn’t come back to me the instant I try to go about my business.”

“Come _back_ to you?” hisses Cloud. “Back! Fucking _back_ -” Cloud takes a deep breath. “Okay.” 

Absurdly, Zack thinks that they sound like exes having a fight in a shitty romantic comedy. 

“Okay,” Cloud repeats. “Sephiroth, please. Listen. It’s too late for you and me; probably too late for this world’s Cloud-”

“-What?” Zack grabs Cloud’s shoulder, intending to make him turn around so Zack can look at him. 

He does, much to Zack’s surprise (something in him expected that Cloud would resist, would refuse to take his eyes off Sephiroth). Cloud’s slight features are the same as always, the usual bright, beautiful eyes tinged with mako, but the look on his face is alien. As alien as Sephiroth’s superior smirk. For a second, he can’t quite meet Zack’s gaze. It’s not the shy look of someone who can’t stand close attention, but a look of such anger and shame that it leaves Zack out of breath, so disoriented that he doesn’t say anything when Cloud turns back around to continue his bizarre talk with Sephiroth. 

“But Zack and Aerith,” Cloud goes on, “they’re still alive. Jenova hasn’t driven this Sephiroth crazy, as far as I can tell. You don’t need to possess his body, either. You know you don’t.”

“I may not _need_ to, but it certainly makes things easier,” says Sephiroth. 

“Okay, but what's your end goal? Is this about Hojo? Go ahead and kill him, if that’s what you want,” says Cloud, rushed and pleading, almost gasping. “In fact, I’ll help you. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Cloud,” says Zack. He has no deep connection to the mad doctor, but he doesn’t want to contemplate the ensuing clusterfuck if Cloud and Sephiroth go mad and plot to assassinate ShinRa’s favorite scientist. Should he call Tseng? Before this shit escalates?

Sephiroth snorts, an expression that’s much more familiar on his impassive face. He starts to unravel his complex bun. “I don’t share your fixation with these petty mortals.”

“I need to call someone,” says Zack, though he can’t quite bring himself to reach for his PHS. 

“Wait,” says Cloud, reaching for his arm as he looks back.

For the first time - probably ever - Zack doesn’t obey the impulse to shield Cloud. He doesn’t know who needs protecting from who anymore. It would almost be better if Sephiroth and Cloud were actually just fucking behind his back. 

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t completely incinerate this kid’s life,” says Cloud. 

_Whose life?_ Zack wonders, somewhat hysterically. _What kid?_ He can’t even bring himself to speak out loud, so Cloud turns back to Sephiroth.

“I won’t get in your way if _you_ do,” continues Cloud, “just as long as you leave Aerith alone and stay out of my way while I go after Jenova and Hojo.”

“Do you expect I’ll just sit back and watch while the Whispers rip you apart?” asks Sephiroth, shaking his head slightly so his long hair can fall down his back.

“If you’re not going to help,” says Cloud, firmly.

“I can sense that you’re not in the mood for our usual contest of wills,” says Sephiroth, with a bored shrug.

“I’m never in the fucking mood,” says Cloud.

“So, for the moment, I will retreat,” says Sephiroth. “Unlike you, I’m not interested in what happens to this world.” And he stumbles briefly, like a puppet whose strings have been abruptly cut, and falls to one knee, gasping.

All three of them stay frozen, with the Golden Saucer tune chirping along in the background. Zack’s heart flutters in his chest, waiting for. . . he doesn’t know what. For Cloud to rush over and try to help Sephiroth - not even because he’s Sephiroth, but because the Cloud he remembers would have tried to help anyone. He’d have been tongue tied after the fact, but he wouldn’t just stand and watch someone struggle.

“Sir!” says Zack, rushing over to help.

“I’m okay,” says Sephiroth, pushing Zack’s hand away as he stands up, eyes wide. Which is saying something, considering the slitted pupils. 

“You’re not,” says Cloud.

But it doesn’t sound like Cloud.

“What is that thing?” asks Sephiroth.

“A vengeful ghost,” says Cloud. 

“How do I get rid of it?” asks Sephiroth.

“I wish I knew,” says Cloud. “It follows me wherever I go.”

“Alright!” Zack yells, running his hand through his hair. “General, sir. This is not the best place to be discussing. . . whatever the fuck this is.” He would talk about mako poisoning, but the idea reminds him of a priest promising to turn cardboard into fish and bread in the middle of a famine.

“You’re right,” says Sephiroth, straightening his back. Even without the usual uniform, he almost achieves the posture of the confident general that Zack has met during briefings. “For the time being, I’m certain that this being will not attempt to. . .”

“Take control of your body,” finishes Cloud, tonelessly. 

Sephiroth stares down at him, with a nauseated air about him. Zack imagines that he looks very similar standing next to him, confused and anxious, waiting for the bomb to go off. Meanwhile, Cloud won’t look at either of them and instead shakes his head at the sky, shoulders drooping as he sighs in bone-deep exhaustion. 

“Just try to go about your usual business,” Cloud tells Sephiroth. Casually tells him, like an old man telling an unruly kid to go play with his toys while he handles business. “I need to make contact with a few more people, then I’ll. . .” He trails off, taking another calming breath. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Okay, great,” says Zack. This conversation needs to end before Sephiroth has another meltdown. Before another one of those fucking Whispers shows up. “Let’s all go back home.”

“Good idea,” mumbles Cloud, taking a meandering step towards Zack, half-gesturing at him. 

Zack grabs his hand to offer a comforting squeeze. Whatever the hell is going on, that’s still Cloud, avoiding everyone’s gaze and looking like a figurative truck just ran him over. Cloud squeezes his hand back, then gives him a sad smile before looking at Sephiroth.

“If he talks to you,” starts Cloud. Then, he hesitates. Looks down at his feet and snorts, before looking back up to Sephiroth. “Just try your best to ignore him. Remember you’re as human as the rest of us, no matter who your mother is.”

Sephiroth nods.

“It’s not Jenova,” says Cloud, encouraged. “And even if it was, it would not matter.”

“I already said I’m not concerned with my parentage,” says Sephiroth.

“Great,” says Zack, quickly, determined not to get drawn into another circular argument. “Good night, sir. We’ll be on our way.”

To Zack’s great relief, Sephiroth glances at him and nods. No one says anything else. Sephiroth turns around, bends down to grab his black beanie, then wraps his hair in a loose bun and stuffs it under the wool. His white bangs refuse to cooperate, but the disguise is still excellent. No one expects the great Sephiroth to be shambling about rooftops with messy hair. He glances back at them and nods again. The confused. . . _kid_ he’d been just moments before has vanished.

Maybe an understanding crosses between all three of them, or maybe Zack just wants to find a silver lining in the crazy situation, whatever. As long as he can take Cloud home without further drama or arguments.

They can still figure this out. Zack may have to do the unthinkable and enlist Tseng’s help, but they can figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So USA is going through some shit right now, huh? To my fellow Americans, hang in there. And to non-Americans following this, it feels very bizarre to be here right now. Hope your countries are coping with the Plague better.


	35. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud and Zack have a chaotic conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING AT THE CHAPTER END NOT
> 
> I'm back!!!!!
> 
> For a second there, it felt like work was sucking the life out of me (don't count them out yet), but I think I'm finally getting to a conclusion . . . or what my mind thought was a conclusion when I started this.

Cloud doesn’t complain when Zack drags him down to Midgar’s streets, then herds him to the train station. He might be emotionally exhausted, but also operating under ruthless clarity for the first time. It’s been a while since the path forward seemed so clear. It’s not that he remembers his past, but that he finally understands that the chronological details are irrelevant. Like he told Sephiroth - _his_ Sephiroth - it’s too late. For the both of them. The only thing left to do is buy the people in this sliver of the universe a chance. He can’t hear the Planet, but he’ll just assume that they would approve of his plan.

A couple recognizes him on the train, but Cloud can’t bring himself to do more than shoot them a tired scowl. As long as they don’t try to talk to him, whatever. Sighing, he lets Zack draw him into a loose hug. He hesitates for a second, and then he sighs and leans on Zack’s shoulder. It’s not his Zack, but what does it matter? Cloud’s already spent weeks and weeks luxuriating in his attention. After tonight, he doubts he’ll get a chance to do it again. Ever. 

Zack doesn’t say anything all the way back to his apartment, doesn’t say anything when Cloud plops down on the couch to stare blankly at the dark TV screen, or when he calmly puts a glass of water on the table and pops open a can of beer for himself.

“You finally believe me,” says Cloud.

“I don’t know what I believe,” says Zack.

It’s sad that he can’t get drunk. Cloud considers telling him that if he goes below the plates and injects some of the mako sewage directly into his jugular, he might actually get woozy for a few minutes. An hour, or close to it, if he gets lucky. But then he’d have to explain how he knows that.

“So you’re from the future,” says Zack, carefully.

“I think, technically, I’m from another dimension,” says Cloud. Like it fucking matters. Shalua might care, whoever the fuck that is. 

“Right, sure,” says Zack, rubbing his face with his hands. “Where’s my Cloud?”

“For all intents and purposes,” Cloud starts. Then he swallows. This isn’t going to be easy, and that’s why he's been in denial about it for so long. “He’s probably dead.”

“No,” says Zack.

“I’m sorry,” says Cloud. “Maybe the philosophers would disagree with me - ”

“ - fuck the philosphers - ”

“ - since his memories are tangled with mine,” finishes Cloud. “I think. I didn’t mean to do it. I think he tried to fight me.”

“Shut up!” yells Zack, then he walks away, hands tangling in his hair.

Cloud does. How long had he - the other Cloud - spent in this very apartment, afraid to go out and face his teammates? No, afraid to go out and face anything that might trigger another awful memory? How often had he complained that Sephiroth was a _murderer_ , not the monster who chased him around from world to world, smirking out incoherent soliloquies, but the soft one walking around in braids all over this building? The one who would be most likely to trigger more memories.

“That thing that’s in Sephiroth right now,” says Zack, startling Cloud out of his thoughts, “he can. . . go away. I saw it. He can go away, and then Sephiroth goes back to his usual self.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” says Cloud.

“Bullshit,” says Zack. “I’ve _seen_ you do it.”

“I’m not the same as Sephiroth,” says Cloud. “As either of them.”

Zack grabs him by the collar of his jacket and hauls him up, furious. “At the ravine,” he hisses. “When we fought that fucking--thing. When you kissed me.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” says Cloud. 

Zack looks downright _nauseous_ , then he pushes Cloud back onto the couch and turns away to take a deep breath. “And what did _he_ want? Do you even know?”

“No,” admitted Cloud. He remembered being excited, painfully so, about talking to Tifa. But he had been married to her, at least in some dimensions. He’d been absolutely shocked when Zack - this Zack - confessed his feelings, disbelieving but resigned. Sex doesn’t mean much to Cloud anymore. It feels good, mostly. And even if it didn’t, he would cut off a limb to make Zack happy. “My memories are.” He breathes, trying to center himself. “They’re not always accurate.”

“I should’ve believed him,” mumbles Zack. “Fuck.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m mostly sure he would’ve been fine with it,” says Cloud.

“Fuck,” repeats Zack.

“At least now, you know,” says Cloud. 

Zack shoots him a look of absolute loathing, and that’s. . . That’s fine. Zack _should_ hate him. It feels like he’s clawed through burning glass to get that look from Zack’s face. 

“This will get easier in time,” says Cloud, as gently as he can manage. 

“Get up,” says Zack. “We’re going to the doctor.”

“Which one?” Cloud laughs. He can’t help it. “Hojo? Hollander? Some miserable fucker out in Gongaga?”

When Zack goes to grab him, Cloud uses all his strength to push him off. Gets up and walks around so the couch is between them.

“There’s no doctor who can fix this and you know it,” says Cloud. 

“Cloud, please,” says Zack. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, but you need help.”

“Not really,” says Cloud. “Not for what I need to do.”

“If you go after ShinRa, they’ll kill you,” says Zack.

“They’ll try,” says Cloud. “They tried before and they never quite managed it, and they can’t even send Sephiroth after me this time. And you - ” He stops, not even because Zack’s expression is getting progressively more horrified. “Is this apartment bugged?”

“Cloud, please - ”

“Call Tseng,” says Cloud. With every passing moment, more details come to him. Calling them memories is inaccurate. It’s knowledge, out of order and sometimes without context, and he can’t tell hallucination from fact. “You want to call him, right? Do it.”

“Listen,” says Zack. “There are some doctors here who’ll abide by that patient-doctor confidentiality thing, at least for a little bit. And we know that whatever’s going on has to do with those Whisper monsters, so. . .”

“Nevermind,” says Cloud, taking out his phone. “I forgot I have his number since I’m Sephiroth’s fucking secretary.”

It’s a little heartbreaking to watch Zack do the mental calculus as Tseng’s phone rings. The only way to stop this would be to fight Cloud, and possibly hurt him, so he can only watch helplessly. It must be like what Tifa saw when he found her in the slums, before it all went to hell. A monster wearing sweet Cloud Strife’s face.

“I do hope this is an emergency,” Tseng says, by way of greeting.

“I need to speak to President ShinRa,” says Cloud. “Right now.”

Zack groans.

“SOLDIER Cloud Strife,” starts Tseng.

“Tell him that I know he wants to find the Promised Land,” says Cloud, impatiently. “And Hojo said that some alien bullshit he found in the Northern Crater is the way to find it. Tell him Hojo’s wrong.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” says Zack, falling on the couch.

“Strife,” says Tseng.

“Also tell him that Rufus is trying to kill him,” adds Cloud. “Oh, and if you’re already sucking Rufus’ dick in this timeline, I’m also willing to work with him.”

“What?” says Zack.

“Whatever ShinRa’s in charge makes no difference to me,” adds Cloud.

“ _Strife_ ,” Tseng tries again. 

“I know he’s experimenting on people in the underground labs beneath the slums,” says Cloud. “Hojo, I mean, though I assume ShinRa Sr. is in on it. He wants to create people who can withstand space travel, and he has Scarlett working with Time materia to deal with the part about light years or whatever the fuck. I’m not a physicist.” 

“Where are you right now, Strife?”

“Get me ShinRa on the phone,” insists Cloud. 

“It’s either your apartment, or Zack Fair’s,” says Tseng.

“He’s in my apartment,” yells Zack, voice strained.

“Excellent,” says Tseng. “Would you kindly pass the phone to Lt. Fair?”

“Okay, just pass on my message then,” says Cloud. “Tell him that Hojo’s playing him, but I won’t. I know how to get to the Promised Land and I’ll tell him how. So long as he gives me Hojo.”

He hangs up the phone before Tseng can say anything else. Zack gets up from the couch, but his phone rings just as he opens his mouth. He curses, but picks up immediately. “Yes, he’s still here.”

Cloud dials Sephiroth, who picks up just as immediately. “Change of plans,” Cloud tells him, only half-listening as Tseng orders Zack not to let him leave.

“We have a plan?” asks Sephiroth.

“You’re gonna get orders to come after me pretty soon,” says Cloud. “I need you to say no.”

“You’re asking me to go to war with ShinRa so casually?” asks Sephiroth.

“What, like you don’t fucking hate this company almost as much as I do,” says Cloud. In the background, he hears Zack telling Tseng that he should probably watch out for Sephiroth, who is also sick with whatever Cloud has.

“Hate is hardly a logical reason to tear my life apart,” says Sephiroth. “My only friends are loyal to ShinRa - ”

“Your eyes would have been brown,” Cloud interrupts. “If Hojo hadn’t gotten his hands on you. If ShinRa hadn’t let him. Your hair would have been black, and you’d be somewhere in Wutai tending to tea leaves and fishing. You never would’ve killed anyone, never would have picked up a sword. Your name was some boring, normal shit Lucretia read in a cheap detective novel.”

“Fantasies aren’t going to work on me,” says Sephiroth.

“There’s a world out there where Hojo died before Lucretia Crescent realized she was pregnant with you,” says Cloud. “It wasn’t even dramatic - the stupid asshole tripped going down some stairs and broke his neck. You were never experimented on, and you were never famous. It all went to shit anyway, but it had nothing to do with you. You died during Meteorfall, but you were innocent.”

“None of this means anything to me Strife,” insists Sephiroth. “Stop it.”

“Seriously, I think Sephiroth’s the bigger problem here,” says Zack.

Someone starts banging on the door. 

“Listen to me, you fucking puppet,” Cloud spits at the phone. He doesn’t have much time. “Genesis hates you because he’s jealous of everything you hate about yourself. In the next few years, his body and Angeal’s will start failing, then Angeal will die and Genesis will turn on ShinRa. They’ll send you after him, and you will kill him.” 

“This is silly, Strife,” says Sephiroth.

The people knock harder, identifying themselves as Turks. On the phone, Tseng orders Zack open the door, but he hesitates. 

“I’m talking to my Sephiroth now,” Cloud tells the phone. 

Zack finally curses, and heads for the door.

“If you decide to go on a rampage at ShinRa, do not kill Zack,” says Cloud. “Or Kunsel. Or Reeve. Just minimize all civilian casualties, and I promise I’ll go along with you next time some shit like this happens.”

The door opens and none other than freaking Rude walks through, except he looks like a fucking baby. Cloud’s honestly offended that Tseng thinks this will stop him. He rolls his eyes when Reno follows after him, smirking. Rude extends his hand out for Zack’s phone.

“You don’t have to do this, Strife,” says Sephiroth.

“Oh, I think I want to,” says Cloud, while Rude tells Tseng that Strife looks physically okay. 

He might have acted rashly when he assumed that Tseng would just take him to talk to ShinRa directly, but he finds that it’s a minor setback. If he avoids looking at Zack’s stricken face, this whole thing is actually kind of funny. 

“Alright, baby SOLDIER,” says Reno, rolling his shoulders. “This kinda shit ain’t uncommon with the fresh mako shots. If you come quietly, we’ll all be laughing about it in a few days.”

“Did you send the Turks after me?” Sephiroth asks from the other line, incredulous. Faintly, Cloud hears someone banging on his door.

“I’m sure you’ll convince them of your loyalty,” says Cloud, taking a step back as Reno advances on him. Getting through the door would involve getting through both Reno and Rude, which whatever, but he didn’t want to have to fight Zack. His eyes flit towards the window. 

“He’s gonna jump,” says Rude.

“Seriously, you won’t survive that,” says Reno.

“I’d say that’s fifty-fifty,” says Cloud. Sephiroth already hung up, so he drops the phone. 

“Seriously, kid,” says Rude, making Cloud roll his eyes. “Forget what the mako’s telling you. Sephiroth himself wouldn’t survive that fall.”

“Cloud, please,” says Zack.

Finally, Cloud forces himself to look Zack’s way, to stare at the pain on his face. “Whatever happens to me now, there was nothing you could have done.”

Reno rushes at him.

Cloud doesn’t bother to doge the electrified baton, it barely stings him. He grabs Reno’s arm, taking advantage of his surprise, and shocks the window’s glass. It shatters under their combined weight, and Cloud drives them out to the small balcony. Rude’s next. Cloud has his dagger on hand, and Reno shouts that Zack had said that he wasn’t armed. Too late. Rude stumbles back with a deep gash on his arm, cursing even as Zack heals him. Cloud jumped on the railing, glancing down at Midgard. The height gives him pause, then he hears Zack yell after him. Cloud tells himself that it’s for the best.

If he doesn’t make it, they’ll have to contend with Sephiroth. 

He forces himself to take one last look at Zack, to meet his eyes and try and force out a reassuring smile, and then Cloud jumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Cloud jumps from a very high window, and thinks that there's a possibility that it might kill him. While he doesn't necessarily want to die, he also explicitly thinks that he doesn't care if he does die. So, warning for suicidality.


	36. Sparks Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> President ShinRa's views on his son's love life and Genesis' take on the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now at the stage of the plague apocalypse where I'm confined to my home again, this time due to a winter storm in Texas that is obliterating our electric grid. Somehow I have not lost power though so um. . . lucky? Anyway, I'm posting this now in case my power goes out, which is honestly a miracle it hasn't. Literally I've had to let neighbors a few streets down show up to my place to warm up/charge their phones.

Tseng does not remember the last time he had to wake up President ShinRa in the middle of the night. He also doesn't remember the last time he had to involve Rufus ShinRa in a middle-of-the-night disaster, because that had never happened before. The situation would have been surreal even without having to watch Rufus' eyes narrow as the recording of Tseng’s conversation with Strife plays. When it gets to the part about Tseng sucking Rufus' dick, the boy sneaks a glance at him. Tseng makes sure to keep his expression placid.

Deep silence falls over President ShinRa's study. The man himself rings a bell, and, within minutes, a perfectly coiffed maid enters and fills his glass with sparkling water, then adds a pinch of salt. Rufus is staring at Tseng as he glances around the room, like he hasn't seen all the decorations and trinkets and examined the many books on the shelves lining the walls dozens of times before.

"So," says President ShinRa, who had not commented on Strife’s screed when he'd first heard it and instead ordered a servant to wake up his son, "you're sucking Rufus' dick?"

"That's what you're focusing on?" demands Rufus, cheeks red.

"It's important, boy," says President ShinRa. "You have not earned a lover such as Tseng."

“Mr. Rufus and I share a cordial but distant relationship,” says Tseng, as though they’re talking about the weather.

"What about my supposed patricide plot?" hisses Rufus.

President ShinRa waves a dismissive hand. "I would hope you'd attempt it at some point, though it pains me greatly that you've apparently been so transparent about it."

"I'm not planning to kill you," Rufus bites out. "Maybe Lazard."

"I must confirm that this is the first time I've heard of such a plot," says Tseng. "From Rufus _or_ Lazard."

President ShinRa steeples his fingers together and nods at Tseng's PHS. "This boy seems to think you'd betray me."

“He also seems to think that Professor Hojo would betray you,” says Tseng.

“He sounds unhinged,” says Rufus.

“Those who have been touched by Gaia often do,” says President ShinRa.

“He wasn’t _touched_ by _Gaia_ ,” says Rufus. “He’s mako-poisoned and crazy from it.”

“ _Just because someone’s crazy doesn’t mean that they’re wrong_ ,” says President ShinRa, in the Old Tongue.

Rufus opens his mouth, then closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Counting to five to center himself, then ten when that doesn’t work. “Now’s not the time for a philosophical or religious discussion,” he says, the next time he opens his eyes.

“Strife does know things that he should not,” says Tseng, drawing their attention.

The President looks at him patiently as he sips his sparkling water, looking like any older man enjoying the comforts of his youth’s conquests in fuzzy nighttime slippers, unconcerned with all these alleged plots to cheat and murder him. This is how President ShinRa always looks, whether he’s talking to some vapid Midgar socialite or to Heidegger as he reports the casualties of ShinRa’s latest expeditions. Rufus tries to imitate the demeanor, but he can’t quite hide the tense line of his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” asks Rufus.

“The underground labs and their purpose,” says Tseng. “Professor Hojo’s promise regarding the Promised Land.”

“That’s just rumors,” protests Rufus.

Tseng looks at him.

Rufus’ eyes narrow, then he looks at his father. “It’s not just rumors. You really are using human subjects for mako experiments.”

“Don’t act surprised, boy,” says President ShinRa. “How do you imagine that SOLDIERs were created? Don’t you imagine there were a few duds before Sephiroth?”

Speaking of Sephiroth, Tseng has not yet shared that Strife had called him as well, and sounded even more unhinged by that point. He had meant to share that recording with President ShinRa right after sharing his own conversation with Strife, but the man had chosen to call his son before allowing Tseng to share any further information. As far as Tseng’s concerned, there’s no need for Rufus to hear that part of it, but he does need to investigate why Strife felt so comfortable that he called the esteemed General - even in the middle of an apparent mako fit.

There had been nothing incriminating from Sephiroth’s half of the conversation, but that meant nothing in and of itself. Sephiroth knew how to keep his thoughts and feelings vague - because they genuinely were, an assessment that Tseng renders without a hint of scorn. That’s just the way Sephiroth was raised, to solve puzzles, win fights, and do little else.

“I must ask you both to excuse me,” says Tseng, interrupting a tedious conversation about the ethics of human experimentation. “There are matters I need to attend.”

Rufus barely acknowledges him, but President ShinRa nods. He remembers that Tseng has more information regarding Strife but also trusts that Tseng can handle it without specific direction, so he does not need to hear it right away. For better or for worse, President ShinRa has decided to focus on Strife’s casual declaration about Rufus’ patricidal urges. It’s not what Tseng would have made a priority, but he might think differently if he had a family of his own. On some level, it must burn to have a son despise you. Two, if Lazard was included.

Out in the hallway, Tseng texts Elena to ask after Sephiroth’s status. She responds right away. Sephiroth seems calm, cooperative, and as confused about the Strife affair as they are. Though that’s hardly proof that he’s not hiding something, the fact that he’s not resisting her and Cissnei’s questioning is reassuring.

 _If you go on a rampage. . ._ Tseng shudders at Strife’s pressured tone. If Sephiroth went on a rampage, the bloodbath would be spectacular. Just ask anyone in Godo’s army.

On the short drive to the Firsts’ luxury barracks, Tseng gets an update from Rude. They - he, Reno, and Fair - had not managed to find Strife’s body. So he had survived the fall. A factor that could not be disregarded when considering his accusations - if he was just a mako-poisoned, delirious fledgling SOLDIER, that fall would have shattered his body. Tseng is not a religious man, but the refusal to consider clear evidence of divine intervention would be its own form of zealotry.

He’s not surprised to hear Hewley and Rhapsodos’ voices in the hallway to Sephiroth’s apartment. Irritated, but not surprised. He _had_ told Sephiroth not to speak to anyone about Strife’s breakdown, but the man doesn’t always listen. Or maybe Fair had called his mentor. Either way, Tseng is not looking forward to the theatrics he’ll find behind Sephiroth’s door.

* * *

Genesis would very much like to punt the Turks out Sephiroth’s window. He’s not fooled by the brunette’s easy demeanor or the tense line of the blonde’s back. They are here because Tseng fears that Sephiroth might do something inadvisable (by which he means, something that would be a PR nightmare for ShinRa Corporation). The blonde glances around like a deer caught in the headlights, more like an untrained secretary rather than a corporate spy. What on Gaia had Tseng been thinking? That Sephiroth would be charmed by her obvious anxiety? That it might inspire him to behave, like a knight in a medieval play? Foolish.

Something strange - and exciting - is happening. Just as Genesis and Angeal had been getting ready for bed, Fair had called Angeal’s phone. Angeal had almost ignored it, as he and Genesis had been in the middle of activities too pleasurable to be interrupted by a vibrating PHS, but the blasted thing had _kept_ vibrating. By the third time it’d started, Angeal groused that he had to make sure that it wasn’t an emergency. It had turned out to be just that, albeit not from a source that Angeal had expected.

The story isn’t exactly coherent. Fair had said that he had Turks with him, but he had claimed that they had been unable to find “Cloud’s body”, and that the young SOLDIER intended to go after Professor Hojo, and that he had involved Sephiroth in his plan. That Sephiroth would understand. Obviously, Genesis and Angeal had taken the elevator to Sephiroth’s apartment at once and found him dressed like a college stoner, with his gorgeous hair in a state of disarray (for him). If a play or film of Sephiroth’s exploits is ever produced, the greatest challenge would be to recreate his ridiculous hair.

“What’s going on?” Angeal had demanded, the moment Sephiroth answered the door.

“As far as I know,” Sephiroth had said, stepping aside so that Angeal could see his guests, “everything’s fine.”

Like the excellent host that he is, Sephiroth had served all of them tea. He’d even asked if there was something on television that they might want to watch, but the brunette Turk had chirped that she was perfectly happy to wait in silence. They’d all been playing with their PHSes ever since. Well, the brunette and Genesis had been playing with their PHSes. Sephiroth had been staring straight ahead with a placid expression as Angeal hovered about him, and the blonde Turk had been pacing about, biting her fingernails. There’s no way that another Turk isn’t coming. The only one who might be able to intimidate Sephiroth - Tseng himself.

As if summoned by the thought, the doorbell rings. Without a word, Sephiroth rises to his feet at the same moment that the blonde Turk startles like a rabbit. The brunette puts away her PHS.

Tseng trails behind Sephiroth, looking impeccable as always, and places his right palm over his heart and bows lightly at Angeal and Genesis. “Commanders,” he says, placidly. It’s truly an admirable skill, how he makes every show of deference look like spitting in someone’s face.

“Tseng,” says Angeal. “What the fuck is going on?”

“A horrible misunderstanding, I assure you,” says Tseng. “Cissnei, Elena, do join Rude and Reno. They will update you on your next assignment.”

The women bow and begin walking out of the room. The brunette actually smiles at Sephiroth, but he’s too flustered to even pretend to follow social niceties. Of course, to the outside world, he merely looks aloof and stoned-faced. Genesis knows him better. When he’s feeling well, or as close to “well” as he ever does, Sephiroth is painfully polite.

“You’re listening in on my PHS conversations,” Sephiroth tells Tseng.

The blonde hesitates, but the brunette grabs her elbow and gestures at her to keep moving.

“It saddens me that you would think I’d invade your privacy in such a way,” says Tseng. “Strife called me himself and mentioned you in a rather unflattering light-”

“- _Strife_?” asks Angeal. Despite Fair’s earlier, frantic call, Genesis is surprised as well. What exactly could the newly minted Third have done that Tseng himself was paying unannounced calls to Sephiroth?

“Then Lieutenant Fair called me personally to ask for help,” Tseng continues, after a brief glance towards Angeal. “He confirmed that Strife’s delusions are somewhat fixated on you.”

“Okay,” Angeal stands up to his full height, “I need you to back the hell up and explain what’s happening. I saw Strife today, and he was fine.”

“He wasn’t, though,” says Tseng. “Right, General?”

“Seph,” Angeal tries.

“He has always performed his duties admirably,” says Sephiroth.

Now that he’s certain that the drama has to do with Strife, Genesis is more entertained than concerned. He leans forward, openly staring at Sephiroth, who can’t be bothered to take his icy gaze off Tseng. For once, Genesis doesn’t care that no one’s paying attention to him - not even Angeal - because he gets to watch the scene unfold as though he’s watching a particularly melodramatic opera.

Angeal gives up trying to get Sephiroth’s attention and gets right in front of Tseng, towering over him, both taller and broader at the shoulders. Even unenhanced, Angeal would flatten Tseng. Most men would cower, but Tseng merely looks up with raised eyebrows.

“Strife works under me as well,” says Angeal. “If something has happened to him, I deserve to know.”

“He’s suffering from what sounds like a rather extreme bout of mako-induced delusions,” says Tseng. “Earlier this evening, Strife called me personally and informed me of some bizarre assasination plans against President ShinRa, and that he would assist me in thwarting said attempts if I delivered Professor Hojo to him.”

“Interesting,” says Genesis.

Tseng looks past Angeal to make eye contact with Sephiroth. “He also claimed that General Sephiroth might be a danger.”

“Here I am,” says Sephiroth, extending his arms and spreading his long, elegant fingers. “Do I look dangerous?”

Tseng chuckles, then nods. “You look as reasonable as ever.”

“Strife had a fit, then?” says Angeal. “That’s practically a rite of passage for new SOLDIERs. Is it worth all this drama?”

“But Strife isn’t like the other new SOLDIERs,” says Genesis. “He didn’t have any shots.”

Angeal glares at him.

 _I know, darling,_ Genesis thinks. _You want Tseng gone so we can speak to Sephiroth privately, but it’s not like the bastard doesn’t know of Strife’s unusual circumstances. And that any “fits” he might be having cannot be blamed on acute mako intoxication._

“The spontaneous poisoning that’s been affecting the monsters,” says Sephiroth. “That’s the working theory of how Strife got his enhancements in the first place, is it not?”

“I couldn’t have put it more succinctly myself,” says Tseng. “Now that we’re all on the same page, I must ask again. Has Strife been displaying symptoms of delusions or psychosis?”

“He’s always been a bit arrogant for his age and station,” says Genesis, since he knows that neither of his fellow Firsts will sully themselves by cooperating with the Turks, “but no. He has always seemed perfectly sane and efficient. He has certainly never mentioned any plots against our dear president, and I don’t think he’s ever so much as uttered Professor Hojo’s name.”

“Hollander’s his doctor,” adds Angeal. “He hasn’t said anything crazy about Hollander either.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” says Tseng. “And on that note, I should inform you that Strife has jumped out of Lt. Fair’s window rather than submit to medical treatment-”

“ _What?!_ ” yells Angeal.

“Please, don’t worry,” says Tseng. “It seems that he survived.”

Sephiroth does not react at all to the conversation.

“So he’s at the hospital now?” asks Angeal.

“I say that he ‘seems to have survived’, because we could not find a body,” says Tseng.

From _Fair’s_ apartment? The man lives somewhere above the fiftieth floor of the SOLDIER skyscraper barracks. Strife should be splatters on the ground like wet, red paint. Genesis is uncertain that _he_ would have been able to survive such a fall.

“As of this point,” Tseng starts, directing his gaze to Sephiroth, “we’re unaware of the extent of Strife’s enhancements, and we have reason to believe that he plans to be extremely hostile towards ShinRa.”

“How dreadful,” says Genesis, not bothering to tamper his sarcasm. If Strife is so strong that he can practically _fly_ , and he intends to move against ShinRa. . . well. A great battle is inevitable, and the great Sephiroth is too obviously invested in the boy to take the lead.

“Just because you didn’t find a body. . .” Angeal curses. “Zack must be losing his shit. Did you give up looking?”

“Of course not,” says Tseng.

“Then I should help,” says Angeal.

“No,” says Sephiroth. “I trust the Turks will do their job.”

“I agree,” says Genesis, before Angeal can argue. They need at least five minutes to discuss this mess in semi-privacy; Sephiroth obviously has something that he wants to say. He nods at Tseng. “Of course, let us know if you require assistance.”

For a moment, Genesis thinks that Tseng will argue. He might be a slight man with no enhancements, but if anyone would be bold enough to fight the three SOLDIER Firsts at once, it would be him. But he is also quite clever, so he elects to give them a brisk nod and a smile towards Sephiroth.

“As always, count on me when you’re struggling, General,” he says, then starts heading out.

Sephiroth doesn’t bother to walk him to the door. After he’s gone, the three of them stay in absolute silence. Even when Sephiroth sits down and all but huddles in on himself, looking absurd with that messy bun and oversized grey sweatshirt. Where did a man as large as Sephiroth even find an oversized article of clothing?

“Practicing your magics always relaxes you, doesn’t it Gen?” asks Angeal, eventually.

“Of course,” says Genesis.

He would hardly call keeping a Lightning materia on the verge of activation “relaxing”. It takes an immense amount of focus to keep the materia from either going off in an uncontrolled explosion, or simply short-circuiting as any old, exposed wire in extreme conditions. Genesis had started practicing the trick long ago, both to improve his control and casting time during battle, and because magic materia was the only area where he truly outperformed the great Sephiroth. By mere accident, he’d discovered that the trick jammed recording devices with an eerie buzzing sound. Not entirely, of course. Angeal and Sephiroth had to slide closer to him in the living room, huddle together on the floor like children, and they would have to take care to keep their voices low, but any recording devices would catch only whispers. Difficult to understand whispers.

“What the fuck?” Angeal hisses.

“Strife did call me,” says Sephiroth. “After I met with him tonight.”

“ _What?!_ ” Even Genesis couldn’t hide his shock.

“I know why I stabbed you,” says Sephiroth, looking towards Angeal with wide eyes.

“What?” Genesis blinks. Too many things are going on at once. He needs to know what in blazes happened at the helipad like he needs _air_ , but that has nothing to do with Strife and tonight’s disaster. Does it?

“Okay,” says Angeal, gaze sliding towards Angeal. “But shouldn’t we focus on the Strife problem right now? This trick isn’t easy on Gen.”

“He’s not mako poisoned,” says Sephiroth. “He’s possessed by a future version of himself.”

Angeal opens his mouth. Squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. Then he looks at Genesis.

“I know because I think I am too,” says Sephiroth. “He’s the one who stabbed you. The me from the future.”

“Why would he do that?” demands Genesis. They’re enhanced super soldiers. What’s the utility in pretending that time travel would be too absurd a line to cross?

“As far as I can tell,” says Sephiroth. “Because he thought it would be funny.”

“Okay,” says Angeal, squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay. Do you - does _he_ think it would be funny to stab me again?”

Sephiroth lets out a strange grunt/chuckle hybrid. “Probably, but he’s not in control right now.”

"Wonderful," says Genesis, gritting his teeth.

"We're running out of time," says Angeal, close to breathless. "Seph, yes or no. Are you safe to be around right now?"

"Yes."

Like they can just accept that at face value. Genesis glares, but he can't keep the trick with the materia going and speak at the same time.

Angeal nods. "Do you know where Strife is?"

"No."

 _Useless,_ thinks Genesis

"Do you know what he'll do?"

"Yes."

Damn. They need _details_.

"Should we try and stop him?"

"No."

_Interesting_

"Seph," says Angeal. "Keep it simple. What will he do?"

"He'll try to kill Hojo," says Sephiroth. "And then he'll try to dismantle ShinRa Electric Company."

Genesis can't hold the spell anymore. His Lightning materia glows bright, lets out a burst of sparkles, then burst into dozens of green mako-shards. Genesis falls forward, palm flat on Sephiroth's floor, gasping as Angeal rubs below the back of his neck.

"That's quite a bold statement, my friend," he says, smirking at Sephiroth. "I must admit I can't wait to find out what happens next."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [twitter account!](https://twitter.com/LaTigra46636273)
> 
> Also [my other videogame fanfic that has replaced my social life, for any of you who might like Persona 5 and high school AUs!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322834/chapters/7201490)


	37. Before a Confused Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Cloud's awakening.

Cloud’s pretty sure that he did some teleportation shit on the way down from Zack’s high-rise apartment. Probably the same kind that let Sephiroth vanish during their battles and then appear right behind Cloud, just to loom like an asshole. How long had it been since he’d had a real fight with Sephiroth, one where Sephiroth truly intended to kill him? Maybe since the first time, before Meteorfall. Wait, that would have been the second time, wouldn’t it?

It doesn’t matter. Cloud shakes his head, tries to focus on the present. He reappeared in the sewers, which makes him wonder if he didn’t have cosmic help of some kind. Cloud’s not the best at thinking ahead, especially not in the middle of what he can admit is a meltdown. His plan had been to land on his feet as best he could, steal some kind of transportation, and keep running, effectively triggering a riot in Midgar and escaping in the ensuing chaos. It wouldn’t have been the first, second, or even third time he did it.

Appearing in a dank humid corridor, under the stinking smog of raw mako and human waste had given him pause, all but snapped him out of the despairing rage that had prompted him to jump off Zack’s balcony in the first place. What the hell is his plan exactly? Would killing Hojo make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things? Despicable as the man is, isn’t Jenova the true enemy? Well, he can ponder about that once he finds out where he is. Is this the true Midgard sewers, under the slums, or is he inside the actual plates themselves? Only one way to know for sure.

Cloud gets up, winces at the ache in his knee. The teleportation fuckery had not broken his fall entirely, or so it seems. Whatever. The mako will fix it, like it always does.

The lighting does not get better as Cloud shambles on, nor does the poor lighting. Or the unbearable stink of sewage. He can’t see any dirt or rocks or smell any soil, so he assumes that he’s inside the actual plates. Closer to ShinRa’s riot troops than he would like. He keeps moving, eyes darting about for cameras. If he’s anywhere close to the barracks, then video surveillance is all but guaranteed.

 _I really didn’t think this through,_ he thinks, as he follows the graffiti. He has no idea where he is, but he knows from experience that street art will lead him away from ShinRa’s strongholds.

The lighting gets worse the more he walks, which is great for avoiding cameras, but makes it more likely that he’ll trip over a live wire or worse. After about an hour of walking-limping, he runs into the first group of monsters. A cluster of spiders, mutated by mako and addicted to electricity. Cloud finds them gnawing at exposed wires, sparks flying about them, and then he realizes why it’s getting darker everywhere. He might or might not be close to ShinRa Headquarters.

As carefully as he can, Cloud tries to walk around the feasting spiders. All he has with him is a mythril dagger, without a single materia to his name. It’s unclear to him if all his future enhancements bled through the time/dimension travel bullshit, or if he’s actually gallivanting about in a teenager’s body. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle of that. Either way, he’s in no mood to be eaten alive by electric spiders. He treks on, weary and thirsty, trying not to think too much about Zack. What he must be going through. Does he know that Cloud survived?

Not that his Cloud survived, exactly.

Hours go by, or what _feels_ like hours. It’s hard to keep track of time without the sky for cues. The corridors get narrower, and the pipes grimier. Eventually, Cloud reaches an area with lighting so dim that he knows an unenhanced person would be in total darkness. He has no choice but to follow his nose, certain that the sewage is flowing to the edges of the plates, where he might be able to find a way to climb down to the slums. After that. . . after that, Cloud will get something to eat and _think_.

* * *

The office phone keeps ringing now that Cloud is gone. It sounds like a deeply petty complaint, considering their confrontation a few nights ago, but it’s what keeps needling at Sephiroth. Multiple times an hour, his phone rings. Almost always, it’s office nonsense that does not require his attention. He has access to a computer that gives him constant reminders about meetings; the courtesy calls are not necessary. The SOLDIER lieutenants all have access to ShinRa’s many regulation manuals; Sephiroth does not need to be consulted about every little decision they make.

A day after Cloud’s disappearance, Tseng himself held a press conference to announce, with much sadness and regret, that one of their new SOLDIERs had succumbed to the psychological side effects of mako enhancement. One who had shown much promise, and who had earned the support of the Firsts class SOLDIERs themselves, as well as considerable support in the population at large. Much to the company’s disappointment, Cloud Strife had not been able to process mako, and he’d gone mad.

Luckily, his deluded rage had focused entirely on ShinRa Corporation itself, and thus, while Strife is extremely dangerous, it is unlikely that he will target any civilian enterprise. Or so Tseng had reassured the reporters. He’d advised the public to keep an eye out for him, avoid him at all costs, and contact ShinRa if they spotted him anywhere. It’d caused quite the stir on S.O.N., greater than anything a dumb egg controversy ever could. Sephiroth is almost amused, and he certainly hopes that the PR department has its hands tied up in dealing with the deluge of spurious “tips”.

Within a few days, Sephiroth had managed to talk to Genesis and Angeal in relative privacy. They’d taken a day to go “hiking” to Junon Mountain by themselves. Once they were far enough from the airship, Sephiroth had told them as much as he could: his strange vision in the elevator, the voice he’d heard in passing over the last few months - so similar to his own that he’d mistaken it for is own inner monologue - the Whisper in the rooftop, his jumbled memories of Cloud, the war against ShinRa, their apparent deaths, all of it. Being possessed by that thing that had stabbed Angeal, for fun.

“Is it still in you?” Angeal had asked.

“As far as I know,” Sephiroth answered, without meeting his gaze.

“And why, do tell, is it _not_ attacking, now it has revealed itself?” demanded Genesis.

“Because Cloud asked him not to,” Sephiroth had said.

It’s the truth. Sephiroth can still feel that. . . presence, amused and patient, if he reaches within himself. The only reason that he isn’t panicking is that it’s not interested in interfering just yet. He has time to figure this out. He has to believe that, or else he’ll go as mad as any magic knight in Genesis’ plays.

“We need an immediate replacement secretary,” Genesis says, about a week after Cloud has disappeared.

The daily morning briefings have been a blur to Sephiroth since then. Repetitive, pointless, and without any hope of significant challenge from anyone. With Cloud gone, they also have been much longer.

“I will go insane at the next unnecessary interruption to my day,” continues Genesis. “Scarlett’s secretary called me to recount a joke the awful woman had told him. Why would he _do_ that?”

“Scarlet probably put him up to it,” said Angeal, rubbing his eyes. “You’re right about us needing another Strife, though.”

“There won’t be another,” says Sephiroth.

“I meant to take phone calls,” said Angeal, gently, as though calming a child.

“I must agree,” says Lazard, adjusting his glasses. “Though I don’t think it’s a good idea to take a SOLDIER - whether a new Third or a more experienced Second - off the mission roster.”

“Then get someone from the secretarial pool,” says Genesis. “Someone with character.”

“Of course,” says Lazard. “I have several candidates in mind.”

One of the candidates he’d had in mind in the beginning, no doubt, long before any of them had given Cloud Strife more than a passing thought when scrolling through the SOLDIER cadet roster. Sephiroth doesn’t argue. It’s true that they need someone to man the phones, and it’s a job that anyone able to keep a schedule and follow instructions would be able to do. That hadn’t been what he’d meant when he said that there wouldn’t be another Cloud.

“Now, regarding the expedition to the Northern Crater,” says Lazard.

“I decided to lead that mission myself,” says Sephiroth.

Genesis, dramatic as always, lets his jaw drop. Angeal stares at him with obvious concern. Lazard merely looks at him, silent and expressionless.

“General, please,” says Genesis. “You’re needed in Midgar.”

“No, I’m not,” says Sephiroth. “You, Angeal, and even the Director here can run SOLDIER without significant input from me.”

“My mission with the Department of Urban Development begins in a mere two days,” says Genesis.

Sephiroth shrugs. “I assume that the workers will sort that out for themselves, with minimal direct input from you.” Considering Genesis had been saying that much from the beginning, he could hardly argue now.

“But Seph,” says Angeal, leaning forward, “don’t you want to be in Midgar in case. . . just in case?”

“No, not really,” says Sephiroth.

Lazard clears his throat. “And what of Lieutenant Fair, then? With you in the North, it’s hardly necessary to lose him as well.”

“He should stay,” says Sephiroth. “If the mako-rabid monsters infest Midgar, you will need all hands on deck.” With purpose, Sephiroth slides his desk chair back and stands up. “If you’ll excuse me, I must make preparations. I leave SOLDIER in your capable hands, Director Lazard.”

Angeal moves to stop him, but Genesis lays a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. Good. Sephiroth does not intend to play along with ShinRa’s farce any longer. He will not meekly follow orders ever again. ShinRa will play along - the corporation and the man himself. They have a lot more to lose than Sephiroth does.

* * *

“What?” says Zack, blinking at Lazard.

“You will not be leading the expedition to the Northern Crater,” repeats Lazard. “General Sephiroth has decided to handle that mission personally, so there will be no need to dispatch you so far away from Midgar.”

Zack had been preparing for that mission for an entire week. Longer than that. Since he’d seen it listed on his mission roster at. . . Fuck. At the Golden Saucer, in the middle of his last date with Cloud. Just the thought of Cloud’s face, his sad smiles, makes the acid in Zack’s stomach curdle.

“Fine,” he tells Lazard, bowing lightly. It’s not like he cares about the stupid Northern Crater expedition; he’d just been using the preparation for it as an excuse not to _think_.

Zack heads back to his apartment, determined to escape the endless questions he must endure now in the rec rooms, at the gyms, in the cafeterias. Everyone had gotten to know Cloud - literally, considering his sudden S.O.N. fame - and everyone kept insisting on asking Zack about him. Fucking _Roche_ had cornered Zack at the gym to ask after Cloud. It’d been the closest he’d been in his entire life to reacting violently to a question posed to him politely, with genuine concern.

That’s what he got for having a reputation of being friendly and approachable.

Kunsel had been the only one that Zack had managed to talk to, and that conversation had served only to make it more clear to him that he had no idea what the hell was going on.

“Cloud was possessed by some future version of himself who can travel dimensions?” Kunsel had asked.

What could Zack do besides open his mouth, close it again, and sigh? He couldn’t even mention the shitshow with Sephiroth, as the Turks had eyes and ears everywhere, and Zack had no interest in ratting anyone out. He isn’t naive about what the ShinRa Electric Company is willing to do to people who know too much. It’s why he’d never sought anyone who might have been able to help Cloud.

“I know you’re not telling me everything,” Kunsel had told him. “Cloud’s my friend, too. I deserve to know what happened to him.”

“I don’t know what happened to him.” That much, at least, had been true.

Things with Kunsel have been tense ever since. He doesn’t understand why Zack can’t just be upfront about this, not even away from ShinRa, down in the slums, where their surveillance is easier to avoid. Has Cloud really defected, like Tseng had said in that press conference? Has the mako really broken his mind? Is he really dangerous? Or is it all some kind of undercover operation that Cloud is running with the Firsts and the Turks? Is Zack in on it? Is that why he won’t just _talk_ about it?

Zack just couldn’t bear it anymore. In his mind, Cloud’s words played over and over and over again on a vicious loop. _I thought that was what you wanted._ The entire time, it’d been someone else, thinking about another Zack.

Every room - every fucking _surface_ \- in Zack’s apartment reminds him of Cloud, of all the supposedly happy times they’d spent together, while Cloud suffocated under the weight of foreign thoughts and memories. How many times had Cloud begged him for help? Had Zack ever taken him seriously? All he remembers now is trying to placate him, wondering how long he would have to wait out the mako poisoning.

He leaves the apartment, though he doesn’t know where the hell he’s going. For an insane moment, he considers deserting ShinRa himself, disappearing into the slums and joining Avalanche. That’s where Cloud would go, right? They are the only ones who dare to even speak out against ShinRa. Besides Wutai, but they're thousands of miles away. He ends up at the simulation room, adjusting the settings to the highest difficulty. It’s not that Zack is afraid for himself,= - not to a pathological degree, at least. He’s afraid for his family, and afraid that Cloud doesn’t want to see him.

There might not be a Cloud left to want anything.

Zack just doesn’t know what to do. He is a fighter, not a scientist. Not a doctor, not a materia or mako expert. He’s nothing. He has never felt like he’s _nothing_ before in his life. Lost? Sure. Confused? Of course. But _hopeless_? It’s like there are sewer rats gnawing at his very soul.

He doesn’t realize that he’s staring at the simulator’s control panel, not registering the touch screen interphase, until he senses someone approaching him from behind. Zack looks up, ready to field unwanted questions, and stops in his tracks. It’s Sephiroth.

Just Sephiroth, in his usual SOLDIER uniform, hair tied up in a loose braid. Zack remembers that rooftop, the Golden Saucer’s catchy tune in the background, that thing controlling Sephiroth’s body complaining about the man’s heavy bun. It strikes him that Sephiroth might be the only person with any inkling of what Cloud was going through.

“Did he ever talk to you about what was happening?” he asks, without even saluting.

“No,” says Sephiroth. “He was afraid of me, I think. Lots of people are, so I didn’t dwell on it.”

Zack has no right to complain, since he’d dismissed all of Cloud’s warnings that Sephiroth is a murderer. Gritting his teeth, he clears the settings off the simulator and turns away, intending to walk out.

“If you find him,” Sephiroth tells him, before he reaches the door, “trust him.”

Just how close had they gotten over the last few months? Or is the person talking to Zack right now _not_ Sephiroth, not the one who commands SOLDIER during wars, not the one in the glossy magazine covers? Is this _Cloud’s_ Sephiroth? The other Cloud?

All Zack has left is questions. He hums a vague sound in Sephiroth’s direction and heads out.

He’s not giving up on Cloud, not while some spirit is out in Gaia, making a puppet of his body. The first thing he needs to do is figure out what the hell is going on. He’s not going to figure anything out from ShinRa, since they’re as lost as he is, albeit pretending not to be and ready and eager to waste resources. All Zack has on his side is Cloud. To be specific, he has Cloud’s confused warnings, and his insistence that Zack is not “for” him.

Zack is not a religious man, but he figures that he doesn’t have to be to pay Aerith Gainsborough a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got the end of everything I've written for this fic, so I'm afraid that this is the conclusion. For now. When I first started writing like a year ago (Jesus when the plague started), I just imagined Cloud appearing in another world, confused, wrecking shit up without meaning to, starting an ill-advised relationship with Zack, then having a meltdown once all his "memories" coalesced in his head. I thought it would take like 10k words at most L.O.L. 
> 
> My point is that reading over this and trying to post it, it's not the most satisfying conclusion, but this is amateur fiction so I figured it'd be better to post it than to leave the long ass story with no conclusion at all. I will reread and probably change stuff, but I'm not sure if there's a way for readers to even know when I've done that. I don't think I'll make any huge changes, so it won't matter.
> 
> If I do write something completely new, I'll post it as a separate work so people can get some type of notification, or find it relatively easily.
> 
> And I'll probably write a sequel. Honestly, I wanted to post mostly to give my brain permission to think up what happened next in the story.
> 
> My [twitter account!](https://twitter.com/LaTigra46636273)

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes on pairings:  
> \- Zack/Cloud is the main pairing; but it doesn't exactly end with them together (it doesn't end with them apart either, but HEA is not the main focus)  
> \- Sephiroth/Cloud and Tifa/Cloud are not the focus and don't play a big part in the fic
> 
> My [twitter account!](https://twitter.com/LaTigra46636273)


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